Penance, Past and Present
by Labyrinth01
Summary: When will Brenda stop paying for her long-ago affair with Will Pope?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Make yourself a cup of tea, find a nice chair, and get yourself comfortable, because this is a long story. Among other things, it attempts to answer the question all of us Closer fans have: why in the world did Brenda ever sleep with Pope in the first place? I filled in a lot of backstoy about Brenda's life before we knew her, including her friendship with Fritz back in her DC days.  
**

**It is helpful, but not necessary, to read "The Ghosts That Haunt Me," because I reference material in that story in later chapters, and I think of "Penance" as almost a sequal to "Ghosts." But you can be the judge of that.**

**Chapter 1**

Brenda was bored. She had spent the entire weekend being bored, looking forward to Monday at work, thinking someone famous was bound to get murdered, but here she was, taking over a case from Robbery-Homicide because celebrities in LA had the audacity to keep on living. She ran her hand through her thick curly hair and picked up the phone to call the Records Department again about the Cold Case files she had requested. Their Robbery-Homicide case was so straightforward that Flynn and Provenza could handle it, so she was dredging up information from a list of cold cases that Taylor had reluctantly made for her. He didn't look happy that she was going to start digging through some of his unsolved cases, but she made sure to ask for the list in front of Pope, so Taylor wouldn't say no. She wasn't trying to bust his chops over anything, she was just…bored.

She readily admitted to herself that she was bored because Fritz was gone. He had flown to Virginia three days ago to attend a conference at Quantico, and as luck would have it, they had to move out of Brenda's house and into their temporary apartment right before Fritz left. He apologized profusely as he ran off to the airport, but she just kissed him and told him not to worry about it, that setting up the new place would give her something to do when he was gone. As soon as he was in his Audi heading off to the airport, she shut the door to their apartment and burst into tears. The place was a mess of boxes, but that wasn't what upset her. She missed her little house, with its garish paint and overdone window treatments, and it wasn't hers anymore. It belonged to someone else now, and it was as if she had never lived there. And leaving her home would have been a lot easier if they moved into another house, where she could focus her energy on fixing it up and making it hers. But to leave her lovely bungalow for an apartment, only to have to move again when they finally found a house they could afford, well, it just seemed too much to take for a person who hates change.

Brenda spent all day Saturday and Sunday trying to feel less miserable about her living situation by eating a large quantity of forbidden sweets and clearing a path so she could at least walk around their "new" place without tripping over a box. She unpacked the kitchen stuff, found the towels and sheets and put them in the small closets in each of the two full baths (his and hers) and moved all of Fritz's boxes that used to be in her garage into his new study. She did not, however, unpack anything of her own except for clothes, and moved her other boxes into the spare bedroom and shut the door. I don't _live_ here, she said to herself, I'm only _staying_ here, and I am not going to make myself too comfortable. She cried every few hours or so, thinking about her perfect house she left behind for this mediocre duplex, and then tried to comfort herself by eating a few more chocolate chip cookies. She longed for Monday to come, so she could go back to the familiarity of her job and her office. She hated feeling so unsettled.

But Monday came without any new cases, and Brenda told her squad to go home at 5pm and appreciate the normal schedule while it lasted. She, however, threw such a fit with the Records department that they brought her the boxes she needed by 5pm, so she had decided to spend her evening at work instead of going "home." It wasn't home to her, and there wasn't any Fritz, so she rather just stay at the office. Brenda thought about Fritz and sighed. He had only been gone three days and she really missed him, and she knew the feeling was mutual. She had gotten four very suggestive e-mails from his Blackberry to her work account that day; when she opened the last one and blushed furiously, she prayed once again that the IT staff at the LAPD didn't read her personal e-mail.

Brenda ran out to get some dinner at her favorite Thai place across the street, and sat eating Massaman Curry and going over case files when Will Pope stopped by to say goodnight. He saw all the boxes in her office and raised an eyebrow. "Are these the Cold Case files you asked for?" he said.

She nodded, swallowing. "Yea, but don't worry Will, I'm off the clock. I signed out at five." She wasn't in the mood for a budget lecture.

"What, no plans with Fritz tonight?" he asked casually, leaning against her doorframe.

"No, he's at Quantico for trainin.' I spent the whole weekend unpackin' in the new place, and I can't bear to look at one more cardboard box. I rather just stay here and do somethin' productive that doesn't involve bubble wrap."

Will nodded. "Yea, moving can be a bitch, I hear ya."

"Where are you off to?" she asked, feigning interest and grabbing another case file and flipping through it, hoping Will would take the hint and leave her alone.

"Oh, I'm having dinner with a couple of friends down the street at Delfino's. Estelle has the kids tonight." He looked at his watch. "Probably time for me to head over there. Don't stay too late, Brenda."

She smiled absently and waved goodbye, glad to get him out of her hair. She had just started to read through the evidence on an eight year old triple homicide, and she was already finding inconsistencies with the investigation. Brenda was far more interested in wrapping her mind around that than hearing about Will Pope's social life.

___________________________________________

A few hours later, Brenda had taken the evidence boxes related to the homicide and put them in the murder room so she could use the white board. She was so engrossed in writing a list of possible suspects that needed to be questioned that she didn't hear anyone approach. When Will said her name, she was so startled she tossed the dry erase marker in the air, which then proceeded to hit a few places on her pink shirt on its way down. "Dammit!" she said, bending over to pick up the marker and angrily recapping it. "Will, you scared me half to death, sneakin' up on me like that. Look at my blouse, ohhh, this is never gonna come out in the wash. What in the world are you doin' back here anyways, for heaven's sake!" When she stood up and looked at him, she knew right away something was wrong. His eyes were red, and she could smell alcohol surrounding him like an aura. "What's up, Will," she asked cautiously.

He took a couple of unsteady steps towards her, before he said softly, "Don't marry Fritz."

For a second Brenda thought she was hearing things. Will was drunk, she had no doubt about that, maybe he wasn't making sense. Or she just heard him wrong. "What in the world did you just say," she asked, turning to get a better look at him.

"I said, Brenda, I don't want you to marry Fritz. Please." Will looked at her imploringly.

Brenda was stunned. He doesn't know what he's saying, she told herself, and tried to calm down. "You're drunk, Will, and talkin' crazy, why don't you just go home and…"

He stepped closer. "I love you Brenda, as much as I don't want to I still love you. And I think you still love me too. We have to stop marrying other people, because we both know we are meant to be together." He stared at her, his eyes naked and his gaze raw.

Brenda could no longer deny what he had said to her, as much as she wanted to. Her pulse quickened as her temper began to rise. "What the hell are you goin' on about, Will. 'We keep marryin' the wrong people?' Is that what you just said?" She faced him, fury boiling in her blood. "Are you for real? You want me to break up with Fritz so we can resume our affair?" Her voice was getting louder with each word, but she didn't care. She felt her face grow hot. "Is that what you think I want, to be your mistress again?" This can't be happening, she thought, it just can't be.

"No," Will said, shaking his head. "Not my mistress, Brenda. I want more than that with you, and I had to get drunk to get up the courage to tell you. You deserve better than I gave you last time, and I'm so sorry about that. But it will be different now, I promise, and we're both single."

Brenda's throat constricted and she felt the bitter sting of curry on the back of her tongue. "We're both _single_? Did you really just say that you and I are both single? What the hell do you think this ring is on my hand, Will? I'm engaged, I am not available, and I am certainly not available to _you_. And even if I was, I have no interest in returnin' to your bed."

"I'll replace the ring with another one, I promise," Will said, looking down at her left hand.

"You son of a bitch," she hissed, anger flowing out of every pore, her face crimson. It was a testament to how drunk Will was that he didn't step back from her. "I've heard that story before, that bull about how much you love me and want to marry me. Do you really think I'm still that naïve? Are you really so egotistical that you think I have anything but anger and pity left for you?" She paused to take a few deep breaths to steady herself. "I should thank you, really, for breakin' up with me, because if you had followed through and married me, not like you ever intended to but let's say for once you kept your word, you would have ruined my life. I'm sure I would just be another ex-Mrs. Pope you dumped when somethin' better came along." She pointed at him. "And don't you speak about my relationship with Fritz like it's some small obstacle, you bastard. Fritz loves me for who I am, he accepts me for who I am, and he makes me a priority in his life, something you weren't capable of doin'. I figured out, Will, a long time ago, that you didn't have the balls to marry me. You want women who are gonna stay home and have your babies, and I intimidate you, I'm too smart and too tough for you to push around. Fritz respects me, he's a real man. You never could, and you never will. And how dare you come in here drunk and dump this crap on me." She put her hands on her hips and tried to stare him down. He didn't flinch. "The hell I am goin' to let you mess up my life again, Will Pope."

Brenda didn't see it coming. Will closed the distance between them and grabbed her by the upper arms. He pulled her close to him and kissed her, hard and unforgiving, his desperate tongue trying to force entry into her unyielding mouth. Without thinking, Brenda wrenched her right arm out of his iron grasp and punched him across the face with all of her strength. Will let go of her and stepped back, muttering several epithets while his hand went to his busted lip to quell the bleeding.

Before she knew what she was doing, she had her gun out and pointed it at him. Will, blood running down his chin, forgot his wounds for a minute and stared at her. She felt sick and numb, but in the numbness she found a patch of clarity, and that is what she clung to. "Now you listen to me, Will," she said in a low voice saturated in rage, "you are gonna call yourself a cab and go home. And you're gonna make up some story about how you got beat up that has nothin' to do with me. I'm comin' in to work tomorrow and pretendin' that you never violated me like that, and you are gonna forget you ever came in here tonight, do you understand?" When he didn't answer, she raised her gun level with his head and shouted, "I asked you, do you understand?" He nodded mutely. "Good," she said brusquely. "Because if you ever, and I mean _ever_, bring up what you said here tonight to me or anyone else, you will be very, very sorry. And don't doubt for a second that I mean what I say, Will. You no longer have carte blanch to walk all over me."

"Now," Brenda said, lowering her gun a bit. "I'm leavin'. And don't even think about doin' anything stupid, like followin' me, you got it?" He made no indication that she had asked him anything. "I said, Will, do… you…understand?" She punctuated each word with a second of silence, through gritted teeth.

Will looked at Brenda, and turned and sat down in Provenza's chair, laying his head down on the desk. "I hear you Brenda," he answered, muffled. "I get it." She realized he was crying, and she was glad. He deserved to hurt.

Brenda backed away from him, her gun still drawn. She quickly grabbed her purse out of her office without ever letting him leave her line of sight. As she lowered her gun and started to walk out of the murder room, she said, "hey Will?"

He listed his head up, face streaked with tears, looking hopeful. "Yes Brenda?"

She glared at him. "Don't bleed on Provenza's desk."

____________________________________________________

Brenda couldn't get to her car fast enough. She practically ran to her Crown Vic, looked around to make sure Will had heeded her warning and didn't come after her, threw her purse in, and started the car. When she placed her trembling hands on the steering wheel, she noticed she had split open the skin over her knuckles of her right hand where she had made contact with Will's jaw, but the pain didn't penetrate the adrenaline. When she reached the street, she started to drive toward her old house. She cursed when she realized what she was doing, and then was almost paralyzed with sadness at the realization that she didn't even have the comfort of her home to embrace her. She had no place to go to feel safe, and loss washed over her anger like a rising tide.

She walked through the door of the duplex and threw her purse and keys to the floor and ran to her new bathroom, undressing as she went. The smell of cardboard and fresh paint made Brenda's head light. She grabbed her toothbrush and put about half a tube of toothpaste on and scrubbed her teeth, trying to rid herself of the memory of Will's alcohol-saturated breath on her face and dry tongue insistently pushing against her lips. She took several swigs of Listerine, repeatedly gargling until she could no longer feel her mouth. Brenda turned the shower on as hot as she could take it and stood under the spray, lathering, rinsing, and relathering until the water ran cold. She couldn't stand the thought that he had violated her like this, demanding something that she hadn't been willing to give in a long time. She wanted to scrub herself raw, getting every last bit of Will Pope off of her. Reluctantly, when the water became too cold to tolerate, she stepped out of the shower and toweled herself off. She put antibacterial cream on her hand and covered the cut with a couple of band aids. She grabbed her favorite pair of pajamas, peach flannel with a cat pattern, and covered it with her brown comfort sweater. Brenda felt the tears coming, but she wanted a drink in her hand before they started. Luckily she had restocked her Merlot selection on Saturday, and she found where Fritz had put the wine glasses. She poured a glass and chugged it, hoping it would calm her nerves. It didn't. She poured a second glass and took it to the living room with her and sat down in her non-home, tightening her sweater around her. She wished desperately that Fritz was there to take her in his arms.

Fritz. The tears she tried to hold back slowly started leaking down her face when she thought of him. They weren't the tears generated by a broken heart, the ones Will Pope was so good at instigating. Instead, they were cold tears, tears of fury and injustice. She realized that as much as she wanted Fritz to soothe her and tell her everything was going to be alright, she knew she couldn't have this luxury. If Fritz found out about what Pope had done tonight, she wasn't sure how he would react, but it wouldn't be good. Fritz hated Pope and didn't trust him around Brenda. More fights than she cared to remember were related to Will Pope, and this—the knowledge that he had forced himself on her—might send Fritz over the edge. She had to store this secret away, even though she and Fritz had promised to be honest with each other after she found out about his alcohol problem. No more secrets, they pledged. But some things are too ugly to see the light of day, and what happened with Will is one of them. This came too close, way too close, to Brenda overturning a rock and letting a dark, slimy secret out for Fritz to see, one that she had never shown anyone. He wasn't upset with her, but it served to fuel his anger toward Will, for reasons Brenda knew she couldn't comprehend. She had promised him it was the last secret. Not anymore, she thought, wiping tears off her chin and pulling her knees to her chest. Now there's one to take its place.

She jumped when she heard her cell phone ring. If it was Will, she was going to go ballistic. She grabbed her purse and quickly pulled out her phone, and was relieved to see "Fritz cell" in the caller ID window. She cleared her throat before answering, so he wouldn't be able to tell she had been crying. "Hey Fritzy!" she said, trying to sound as light as possible. "What are you doin'?"

Fritz was silent at the other end. "Brenda," he said cautiously. "What's up? You sound funny. Are you okay?"

Brenda closed her eyes. Damn him for knowing her so well. "Nothin's wrong, Fritz, I just got home, and the apartment's empty, and you're gone, and I miss you is all." Which was all true.

"Brenda," he said again, sounding ominous. "Did I just catch you eating chocolate?"

She sighed in relief. "Yes, Fritzy," she said, glad to be pleading guilty to a lesser offense. "You caught me eatin' chocolate. And I'm real sorry 'bout that."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Flashbacks are in italics.**

**Chapter 2  
**

Dwellings have a way of making new occupants feel unwelcome. Strange noises, creaking bones of the house, unfamiliar shadows, and unusual smells are all disconcerting to someone who hasn't settled in yet. All these, plus her horrible evening, kept Brenda awake most of the night. Kitty refused to sleep with her, preferring to embrace the novelty of being able to run up and down stairs, so the click-click of cat claws became background music for Brenda's fitful night. At dawn, she gave up trying to sleep and went downstairs, stubbing her toe on a box of books she hadn't seen. The throbbing pain added to her overall misery, and she was grateful that she had unpacked the coffee maker and bought coffee and filters. Coffee was good. Everything seemed better after a cup of coffee.

She sat down on the sofa with a streaming mug, happy that Kitty joined her and hopped on her lap. Her eyes were sore from crying and ached from sleep deprivation, and her hand, which he hardly noticed last night, felt bruised and swollen. Brenda could barely stand the idea of going into work today; she wanted to go anywhere today but Parker Center, anywhere. She had a fantasy about calling in sick and flying to Virginia to pay Fritz a surprise visit. She knew that would thrill him to no end, but she would just be postponing the inevitable. Sooner or later, she was going to have to face Will Pope.

With a groan, she realized it was going to be sooner. She remembered she had an 9:00am Chief's meeting with him, and she couldn't miss it without drawing attention to herself. And if anyone should be hiding, she thought, it should be Will. But she knew all too well that none of this would touch him. Nothing about their affair ever did. Will got to move through life without ever having to pay for what he did to her. Whereas Will received immunity, she felt like she never stopped paying.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

_**One month ago**_

_Brenda had a follow up appointment with Dr. Daily regarding her PCOS. Fritz insisted that he come, even though Brenda told him it wasn't important, that she would call him afterwards and let him know what Dr. Daily had said. His insistence made her suspicious, and she was pretty sure she knew why he wanted to be there. They had set a wedding date, so she bet his mind was now focused on kids. There wasn't a lot of time: she was 42, and she knew if he wanted her pregnant, they would have to start trying now. Whenever Fritz brought up the idea of children, Brenda deftly changed the topic. She didn't see the point of discussing something that wasn't going to happen. She didn't really want kids, so her possible infertility didn't bother her. But she knew it bothered Fritz._

_They sat across from Dr. Daily in her office while she informed Brenda that her hormone levels were back to normal, and that she was happy to hear Brenda's symptoms were gone and her periods returned. Before Brenda could open her mouth to respond, Fritz spoke._

"_Dr. Daily, what are the chances that we could conceive? Since the menopause has reversed, Brenda can get pregnant, right?" Brenda glared at him. She knew it, she knew it, she knew it. What a question to ask without discussing it with her first. Damn him._

_Dr. Daily rubbed her chin thoughtfully, and then flipped through Brenda's chart. "Well, not great, I have to be honest. Brenda has a lot of strikes against her. Women over 40 have a very hard time conceiving without reproductive assistance, like in vitro. And on top of that, there's the PCOS, which also causes infertility." Dr. Daily looked at Fritz, who_ _was staring at the floor, disappointment etched in his handsome face. She cleared her throat and looked at Brenda._

"_I have a question, Brenda, which might give us an idea if you are infertile or not. Your chart doesn't say…have you ever been pregnant before?"_

_Brenda's heart stopped cold. She desperately wished Fritz wasn't here, and it was just her and Dr. Daily, patient and physician, clinical detachment and without judgment. But she found herself, for once, unable to lie. She looked down at her lap and mumbled "yes." _

"_Oh, well, that's a good sign," Dr. Daily said. "How old were you when you conceived?"_

"_Thirty-two," Brenda answered, feeling Fritz's eyes on her. "I, um, had an abortion."_

_Dr. Daily didn't miss a beat, and Brenda was relieved. "Women with PCOS have usually have had it for years, so the fact that you got pregnant in your 30's is promising. But again, Fritz and Brenda, the likelihood is slim. I can refer you to a reproductive specialist if you like."_

_Brenda said "no" at the same time Fritz said "yes." Dr. Daily looked at them, then reached into her desk and handed a card to Fritz. "In case you both decide you would like a consult," she said, emphasizing the word "both." "And I know this is pretty obvious, but I tell couples anyways, frequency is important. Try and have intercourse at least three times a week, especially mid-cycle. And Brenda, I assume you are going off the pill?"_

_Brenda bit her lip. "I was plannin' on it when we get married in six months."_

_Dr. Daily shook her head. "Six months is too long. Go off the pill now, because it takes a couple months for you to start ovulating again. At your age, honestly, every month counts. Don't wait to start trying." She reached behind her and pulled out a packet, and handed it to Brenda. "This is just some information on attempting conception over 35. It can be helpful. And Brenda, I'll see you back here in three months for a checkup, okay?" Brenda nodded her head and got up. She heard Fritz thank Dr. Daily as she opened the door._

_Brenda and Fritz didn't speak as they walked to his car. She was afraid of looking at him, having no idea how he might react to this newly unveiled secret. Fritz opened the car doors and they both got in, still silent._

_Brenda sighed. She couldn't stand this. If there was another wound that had to be picked at, let the bleeding begin, she thought to herself bitterly._

"_Fritz, it's okay to ask me about it," she said softly. She finally looked at him. He didn't look upset, he looked sad._

"_I didn't know if I had the right to ask, honestly," Fritz said, putting his hand on her knee._ _"I know ending a pregnancy is a tough choice, a very personal one, and something women probably don't like to share."_

"_You're not mad at me then, for not tellin' you?" Brenda asked, surprised._

_Fritz ran his hand through his hair. "I don't know, Brenda, if I have the right to be mad at you for not telling me either. I just hope you weren't afraid that I would judge you, because I wouldn't. I mean, I'm not. It's not my place to judge your decisions, honey."  
_

_Brenda nodded, relieved. "That's kind of you, but since you know now, I might as well tell you the whole story. Not that it's exactly my favorite topic of conversation."_

"_It was Will's, wasn't it?" Fritz whispered, staring straight ahead._

"_Yea," she answered. "Of course it was." She swallowed hard, determined not to cry, as her mind revisited a dark part of her life she tried to forget. "One month after he dumped me, I found out I was pregnant. I just couldn't believe it, talk about insult to injury. Then I remembered one of the last times we were together the condom broke, but stupid me, I didn't think anythin' about it. So here I was, lickin' my wounds, plannin' my move back to Atlanta, when I find this out. And I went through my choices in my head: have this baby and be tied to Will for life, and embarrass the hell out of my mother and father. Stunt my career by bein' a single parent, probably beggin' my furious parents to help out. That just seemed…unbearable to me. So I made an appointment and had the pregnancy terminated. And I never regretted that decision, never. It was the right one for me at the time."_

"_Did you tell Will?" Fritz asked._

_Brenda shook her head violently. "No, no way in hell. I'm sure he would think it was some kind of trap to get him back. Or maybe, since he was interested in Estelle because she wanted kids, he would have married me because I was havin' his baby. And of course, that would have been a disaster, I'm sure he would have left me at some point when somethin' better came along. And I'd still end up as a single parent. It was a no win situation."_

_Fritz sat in silence for a minute. "You should have told Will," he said finally. "As furious as I am at him for getting you pregnant, he had the right to know." Fritz looked at her._

_Brenda felt her face grow hot. "Where did the non-judgmental attitude go? Is this some kind of guy thing, Fritz? It was my uterus, it was me who had to lie on that table, not Will. No, he had no right at all to be told about this, no right to be part of the decision. Not after he dumped me, no way. You have got to be kiddin' me."_

_Fritz shook his head. "I'm sorry, Brenda. I just think I would be upset if I wasn't told about a pregnancy. Regardless of the decision." He paused for a second, taking a deep breath. "Damn Will Pope for doing that to you. I'm sorry you had to go through that."_

_Brenda wanted to say that she was equally responsible for the unwanted pregnancy, that it wasn't fair to blame it all on Will. And then it occurred to her, what Fritz must be thinking. He just found out from Dr. Daily that it was unlikely he would get her pregnant. And then he learned Will, his enemy of sorts, had gotten her pregnant, by accident. She was sure it fed into his Will-rage, the idea that Will was able to do something Fritz couldn't, like Will was more of a man because he conceived a child with Brenda. It was irrational, it was illogical, it was male ego idiocy, but in some primitive, machismo, genetic longing, "propagation of the species" way it made sense. _

"_Fritz, can we not talk about it anymore?" Brenda asked, her voice trembling. "I have never told anyone about the abortion, and it's hard to be thinkin' about that time in my life. Now you know, and we know I used to be fertile, so let's take that bit of good news and leave the rest, okay?"_

_Fritz leaned over the console and pulled Brenda closer to him. "Of course, honey," he said, stroking her hair. "I love you, no matter what, children or no children. What's in the past is done, let's focus on the future." He leaned in to kiss her, but before she closed her eyes, she caught site of the hurt and anger in his. _

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
_

Long after the remaining coffee in her cup had grown cold, she reluctantly picked herself off of the couch, displacing a snoozing Kitty, to get ready for work. She was determined to look as unaffected to Will as possible, so she had to have time to work some magic with her makeup and cover up the circles under her eyes. Her years as an interrogator had trained her well for times like these, when the physical needed to mask the turmoil of the emotional. She just wish she lived a life where she didn't have to draw on this skill so much.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Flashbacks are in italics. Spoilers for The Other Woman and No Good Deed.  
**

**Chapter 3**

**_10 Years Ago_ **

_Brenda stepped on to the elevator at the DC Police Department, smoothing her lightweight blazer over her stomach and standing up so straight it almost hurt. She was amazed that people around her saw an intact woman. She felt translucent, clear like jelly, as if everyone should be able to see the seams from where she glued the bits and pieces of_ _herself back together, the cracks and jags visible to the naked eye. It had been three weeks since Will had unexpectedly broken up with her, his only reason for leaving was that he wanted to work on his marriage. Brenda stuck herself back together with the strength in every fiber of her being and showed up to work every day; her heartbreak was allowed to surface only in the privacy of her apartment, late at night, when nobody was around. She was determined that Will would see no outside sign of her suffering, because she refused to give him the pleasure. But she felt fragile, so fragile, and she feared one strong gust of wind would cause her to crumble. _

_One of the officers in the back of the elevator noticed Brenda and said, "hey, if it isn't Miss CIA!" His friend laughed when Brenda pretended she didn't hear him. She was used to men flirting with her and acting like asses when she was around. She was attractive, and in a profession where she was often the only woman around, she learned to ignore stupid men very early on in her career. They called her a bitch behind her back, and sometimes to her face, but she didn't care. She was used to it by now._

_When the cop realized he wasn't going to get a response from Brenda, he turned to his buddy. "Hey Smithy, I was just on the third floor and got a little dirt. Did you hear about Commander Pope? This is a good one."_

_Brenda felt hot and dizzy all of a sudden. The numbers on the elevator buttons become blurry, and she rested her hand against the wall to steady herself. Did they know? Did Will tell everyone he had an affair with Brenda now that it was over? Would he really do that to her? Her stomach lurched._

_The second officer scoffed. "Dyer, you are worse than a woman with your gossip. Okay, go ahead and lay it on me."_

"_Hey, hearing the scoop around here is the only way the job stays interesting. Especially when it's about egotistical assholes like Pope."_

"_You gonna spit it out or not?"_

"_Yea, so this is what I heard. Pope walked out on his wife last week. Completely out of the blue. She's real broken up about it, I guess."_

"_That's too bad," Smithy said. "I met her a couple times. Ann is a real nice lady."_

_Brenda's head began to pound and she broke out in a sweat._

"_But that's not all," Dyer said. "You know Estelle Anderson, from the Accounting department?"_

"_Um, yea, I think so. Red hair, real friendly?"_

"_That's her. Well, rumor has it Pope left his wife for Estelle. Moved directly from his house into Estelle's apartment. I guess he's gonna marry her as soon as his divorce is finalized."_

"_You're kidding me," Smithy said. "What a freakin' jerk! Even if he was single, he's got no business fooling around with women who work here. He's too high up in the DCPD to be dipping his pen in the company ink, if you know what I mean."_

"_I hear ya," Dyer nodded. "Like I said, I always thought he was an asshole."_

_The elevator stopped, and two people got on. Seeing freedom, Brenda pushed past them without apologizing and got out, even though it wasn't her floor. She ran down the hall, garnering stares from the people she passed, until she found the bathroom. She kneeled on the floor and vomited for the third time that morning. When she was done, she sat on the floor of the stall and tried to remember how to breathe._

_Will had broken up with her because he wanted to save his marriage. But he left his wife…for another woman. Brenda didn't believe even Pope could have replaced her so fast, so that meant…_

_She leaned over the toilet and dry heaved. There was nothing left in her stomach to throw up._

_That meant he was cheating on her. With some woman named Estelle. He had a wife and two girlfriends._

_And he had chosen this Estelle over her. Despite all his promises, his assurance of her love, and how they would be together some day…he chose this other woman over her._

_It wasn't that he didn't want to leave his wife. It wasn't that he didn't want to get seriously involved with someone as soon as he did._

_It was that he didn't want to leave his wife…__for her__. He didn't want to make a commitment…__to her__. Someone had come along and easily eclipsed the two years of a life they had together. It was a shadow life, but the only one she had to hold on to. And now even that was taken away from her. Will never loved her. He was just biding his time._

_After another round of dry heaves, Brenda picked herself off the floor and went to the sink. As she was washing her hands, she looked at herself in the mirror. I'm good_ _looking, she thought, even though the persistent nausea over the past couple of weeks made her pale. I'm smart. I'm self-confident. Why did I ever let myself become the other woman? She stared at her reflection, as if she expected it to give her the answer. But it was as white and mute as she was, and she could have sworn she saw a small crack, like the shell of an egg, appear across her face._

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Brenda stepped off the elevator onto the 6th floor and headed toward the large conference room at the end of the hall for the bi-weekly Chief's meeting. She was as prepared as she would ever be to see Will, and she just wanted to get it over with. She wore her favorite suit, a grey tweed that hugged her in all the right places, and spent extra time doing her makeup. She even straightened her hair with the flat iron, which took forever but was worth it. She knew she looked polished, professional, and in control, exactly how she wanted Will to see her. Nothing gives someone power like letting them know they can hurt you, she thought. And I will give him no power.

Brenda helped herself to the coffee and muffins that always awaited her in the conference room. As usual, conversation halted when she walked in. She gave her best Southern smile to her ten male colleagues, and some nodded back. A few seconds later their individual conversations resumed, and Brenda saw two empty seats at the end of the table and took one of them. She didn't have anything to say to these other Deputy Chiefs, and the feeling was mutual. Brenda only attended these meetings because the Chief himself wanted her to, so Will had no choice but to start including her. Will wasn't there yet, so she took advantage and prepared herself for his arrival. She folded her hands over a notebook she had pulled out of her bag, and pasted on the blandly interested facial expression she often used for interviews. She took the remnants of the rage and humiliation from the night before and stuffed them in a box, and put it in a deep, quiet place within herself she knew she could trust. Feelings were safe there, far away from her heart and her emotions.

Will walked in five minutes late, apologizing as he came through the door. Much to her dismay, the first thing he did was to seek her out with his eyes. She looked back, unblinking, making him quickly look away again. She was immensely pleased to see she had done quite a bit of damage to his face. Both his upper and lower lip had a deep, bloody cut, and he had a angry deep purple bruise the size of a silver dollar next to his lips. His eyes were red, and he looked to Brenda like he had one hell of a hangover.

"Chief Pope, hell, what happened to your face? Some suspect do that to you?" one of the men called out.

Will was clearly prepared for this question. "No, no suspect. It was just my son. We were wrestling and things got a little out of control. I guess I should just hope he gets a boxing scholarship to college." Will shook his head and tried to laugh, but it came out flat.

"That's some serious right cross the kid has," said someone else. "How old is your son anyways?"

Brenda knew his son was 7, and she was quite offended at the notion that a 7 year old could have punched Will has hard as she had. Will was also prepared for that question too, because he changed the subject and slipped in to "hard ass" mode.

"Okay everybody, enough with the chit-chat, we have work to do here. Take a copy of the agenda and let's get going."

The rest of the meeting was a blur, full of budget updates and crime statistics. Brenda felt Will's eyes on her, but she only looked at him when he was speaking, with a generic look of moderate interest on her face. Will's eyes flicked back to her, clearly monitoring her mood throughout the meeting. She was making him nervous. What did he think, that I'm going to throw another punch in front of everyone? Or stand up and accuse him of sexual harassment in front of these misogynistic jerks? Let him sweat, she thought to herself.

The meeting was finally adjourned by Will, and Brenda bent over to put her blank note pad and pen back in to her purse. When she sat up, Will was standing right in front of her. There were still several people in the room, clumps here and there engaged in conversation, and Will asked loudly, "Chief Johnson, can I see you in my office for a minute? I want to talk to you about the Cold Case you are investigating." Brenda knew it was bull, and wanted to tell him so, but couldn't because several sets of eyes were on her now. Will knew to ask in front of others, so she wouldn't dare say no. Brenda felt her ire rise. She has specifically told him, with a gun in his face, to never talk to her about what happened, and here he was, dragging her into his office. She had no doubt what the meeting was about.

She nodded stiffly and followed him down the hall to his office. He let her enter first and she stood in front of his desk, arms crossed. He shut the door.

"Brenda, please sit," he said softly.

"No. I am comfortable standin', and this is gonna be a real short meetin.'" She removed her mask of passivity and replaced it with what Will called her "angry face." Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him, forcing memories of his unwanted mouth on hers back into their hidden place.

Will went behind his desk collapsed in his chair, rubbing his head. "I really wish you would sit down, Brenda. I need to talk to you."

"Yea, and I really wish I wasn't wastin' time right now in your office, but we can't always get what we want. What is it, Will?" she asked bluntly.

He looked at her, then looked away. "I'm sorry, Brenda."

"Can you be a little more specific, Will? How can I possibly know what you are apologizin' for when there are so many stupid things you have done?" Her eyes were cold and narrowed in anger. Brenda hoped desperately that she was evoking memories of what it felt like to be on the wrong end of her gun. She would like him to feel that way forever.

"Last night, Brenda. I was drunk, completely out of control, and I am so sorry. My behavior was reprehensible, and I deserve your wrath. I know you said never to bring it up…"

Brenda interrupted. "Yea, I did, and I thought I made it clear."

"I know, but I couldn't just pretend it didn't happen. Especially since we have to work together. I don't want you to worry about that type of thing happening again, because it won't."

"Worried?" Brenda asked incredulously. She set her purse on the chair and put both hands on his desk, leaning into him. "Worried, like thinkin' my jackass boss is gonna physically assault me again late at night? Or worried that my jackass boss is gonna hit on me despite clear boundaries havin' been drawn two years ago? What exactly shouldn't I be worried about, Will?" She leaned in even further, using her height to her advantage. Will pushed his chair back a little, clearly intimidated by her.

"Both, Brenda. I'm not going to behave like that again, you have my assurances. And you deserved to punch me, you really did."

"Actually, I deserved to rip your testicles off," she said, staring him down. "But your face was easier to reach."

"Brenda, I know you're mad, and I…"

She laughed, a dry harsh laugh that made him jump. "Do you know how many times I have heard that come out of your lyin' mouth, Will? 'Brenda, I know you're mad….' Fill in the blank. Like I told you last night, I am way beyond believin' you, Will. Do you know what I'm worried about? That the next time I'll do more than pull a gun on you." She felt venom pump through her veins, anger beyond anger, and it took all her self-control from picking up the lamp on the desk and hitting him over the head with it. For years she had heard suspects talk about a murderous rage, and she understood what they felt. She had been in that place of blind rage a few times in her life, when hurting someone seemed like an uncontrollable reflex. Listening to Pope's pathetic apology, Brenda was in that zone now.

"There won't be a next time, Brenda."

Brenda ignored him. Forcing herself to lower her voice and think about something else then his dead body slumped over the desk, she said, "do you have any idea what you have done, Will? Your little drunken confession and gropin' last night ruined three years of hard work on both of our parts. Three years of learnin' how to be colleagues, how to work together so our disaster of a relationship didn't affect our jobs. _My_ job. But after last night, all I feel is hatred for you, Will. Pure disgust and hatred. You have this way of walkin' in and screwin' up my life, and I'm sick of it. I have finally gotten to the point where PHD is respected, and people have accepted me just a little bit here, and my squad has gotten used to the way I do things. And now I gotta figure out all over again how to deal with you bein' my boss when I hate your guts? I had forgiven you, Will, for dumpin' me and marryin' someone else, because I found Fritz and learned what a good relationship is. And I saw what a broken, pathetic man you were to have thrown me away like garbage, and I realized it wasn't my fault. And I could put our past behind us and be friends. And now, that is all gone. We will never be friends. And I will never respect you again. And it is all your goddamn fault. It's always your fault." She fought back angry tears.

Will rested his head on his hand. He sighed. "I don't know what to say, Brenda. You're right, I damaged our friendship and our work relationship, and I hate myself for that. But I don't want you to leave here, I don't want you to leave PHD because of me. And I'm not going anywhere, so we have to learn how to work together." He paused. "Are you going to file a formal complaint?"

Brenda sat up and picked up her black bag. Suddenly her sleepless night caught up to her and fatigue hit her like a wave. "I don't know yet," she lied, knowing she wasn't, but wanting him to stew.

"Are you going to tell Fritz?"

She bristled at his words. "What is this, high school, you worried my big strong boyfriend is gonna beat you up after class?" Brenda glared at him. "It's none of your damn business what I tell Fritz. And as I showed you very clearly last night, I don't need any protectin'." She turned toward the door. "This conversation is over, Will. For good. You understand, or do I need to pull out my gun?"

"Fine, Brenda. I just wanted to apologize."

"Yea, and assure me it will never happen again, I got it," she sneered, opening the door.

"Better have someone look at your face, Chief Pope. Your son throws one hell of a punch."

_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

**Two years ago**

_She had been worried for weeks. Even though Will assured her that no one would find out about that their affair had been brought up in his custody hearing, Brenda was still nervous. All the manipulating, sleazy, fat cat attorneys in LA could promise her that the contents of her deposition would never be revealed, and she still wouldn't feel safe. It was her greatest fear ever since she came to the LAPD, especially since she was so resented for being an outsider. If word got around that she used to be Pope's mistress, what little respect she had would be lost forever. People would just think Pope brought her in to run PHD because he was sleeping with her, not because she was a skilled criminal investigator. Well, at least I don't have to worry about Fritz finding out, Brenda thought, because he already knows._

_Her current case upset her, and she was determined to solve it. A 16-year old boy had been gunned down outside of his house. His family priest had involved him in some Civics class project aimed to teach students about social injustice by working with prisoners thought by some to be innocent. Brenda thought it was the dumbest thing she had ever heard, and told the earnest priest as much. He didn't understand, and he refused to see that his actions indirectly got a young boy killed. Comparing him to Jesus Christ, she thought to herself. It's more like the priest is the one with a Savior complex._

_Brenda sat listening to Detective Ross drone on as he reviewed the initial investigation of the Quick Mart murders, eager to get to contents of Gerald Curtis's cell at Fulsome in case it held valuable information. She was thinking that Robbery-Homicide did a pretty poor job of investigating these murders when she heard a woman's voice outside the hall, talking to the ever-lurking Taylor. Brenda turned to look, and Estelle Pope walked in the murder room._

_Brenda hadn't seen Estelle for years; and she thought she looked hard and worn out, older than her age. I guess that's what happens when you marry Will Pope, Brenda mused. "Where is she," Estelle demanded, scanning the room with her eyes. There weren't many "shes" at the LAPD, and Brenda realized Estelle was looking for her. Dread enveloped her like a damp blanket, but she was able to steady her voice and ask Estelle to come to her office._

_Brenda took one look at Estelle's angry eyes and knew exactly why Estelle was there. When she refused to leave the murder room, everything grew quiet, and it was as if Brenda had come out of her body and was hovering over the scene, watching Estelle and herself, surrounded by her people, as her worst nightmare played out. As an observer, Brenda could clearly see the rage emitting from Estelle's body in red waves, and the shame surrounding hers. She could hear every word out of Estelle's mouth… affair… mother of my children…sleeping with Will… but she couldn't process them, she just watched her own face grow redder and her jaw grow slack. It wasn't until Estelle turned and stormed out of the room that Brenda was pulled back into her body, and the silence cracked open and the weight of every eye in the room rested heavily on her. Think, Brenda, she told herself. Say something. She croaked out an apology to her squad, and then fixed her eyes on several boxes Detective Sanchez had brought in on a dolly. They were the much-anticipated cell contents from Fulsome, and Brenda was able to redirect her team away from the drama that had just unfolded. She felt like she had been splayed open, her soul excised and her dark secret pulled out of her for all to see. Will's quick appearance and words of assurance ran hollow to her ears. Her squad can't un-know; they heard what they heard and that can't be changed._

_Driving home that evening, Brenda debated whether or not to tell Fritz about what happened. On the one hand, he would comfort her and share her anger and shame, making her burden lighter. On the other hand, Fritz hates Will, and she hadn't told him that details about their affair came up in her deposition. Will Pope is a sore topic in their house, so she filtered out information that would only make Fritz angrier. Telling Fritz that Estelle Pope revealed their affair in front of her colleagues because Will was dumb enough to leave love letters lying around would infuriate him, and no doubt make him think Will still has feelings for her. Brenda sighed, deciding she had no choice. As badly as she wanted to share her humiliating day with Fritz, she knew she couldn't. There was no point in stoking up a fire from the hot coals of Fritz's jealousy._

_Fritz was waiting for her when she walked in the house. She sensed immediately that he was upset, but she made casual conversation about her missing purse, hoping she was wrong. She wasn't. Fritz knew. Somehow, word had traveled about Estelle's performance. And Fritz was furious, at her. She felt her own anger flair up when he accused her of this being her fault, that if she only told Pope she wasn't interested than Estelle never would have burst in to her murder room. She wanted to tell him that Estelle was crazy, that maybe she was jealous for no reason; she wanted to let him know she had dinner with Pope not that long ago and told him that they could only have a professional relationship, nothing more. But Brenda never got the chance. Fritz put his hands on her shoulders and lightly shook her, and then told her he loved her. For the first time. Brenda didn't answer, and Fritz stormed out of the house. _

_Brenda's silence was borne not out of fear; she knew Fritz loved her. Rather, it was borne out of anger. Fritz used those special words to brand her as his, to mark his territory. Nobody should be told they are loved in a voice tainted with fury and suspicion. He took what should have been a beautiful moment in their relationship and twisted it into a weapon, a shield to be used in the endless battle between him and Will. And there was no way Brenda was going to abuse those words too just to quell his insecurities. She would tell him she loved him in a moment of intimacy, when the world disappeared and nothing exists except the two of them, but not during a fight. Never during a fight. Brenda had been on the receiving end of possessive love, and she wasn't going to have that type of relationship with Fritz. _

_She spent the evening ruminating about her relationship with Will. She went through her secret box that contained pictures of the two of them, small gifts, and letters he sent her when he traveled. Kneeling on the floor of her bedroom, it suddenly occurred to her how wrong this all was. She kept bits and pieces of her relationship with Will in a dusty box, hidden from her live-in partner. She was angry that Will left her letters lying around, and here she was, no better than him. Brenda got up and grabbed a garbage bag, dumping the box and its contents in it. She thought she heard Fritz, but it was only Kitty, on the prowl. _

_Her anger toward Fritz didn't waiver, but she was increasingly worried about how late it was. She had no idea where he went, and she hoped it wasn't to a local bar. He was hurt, and she worried that he might turn to alcohol to calm him, breaking four years of sobriety. Brenda desperately hoped this wasn't the case; if he started drinking because of her, because of their relationship, she would feel awful. She lay down on the top of the bed, waiting for him to come home. She planned to stay up until he walked through the door, but sleep overtook her._

_The next morning, she woke with a start, confused to be on top of the covers of an empty bed. She groaned when the day before rushed at her, and she remembered. She quickly got up and went out to the living room, relieved to see Fritz asleep on the couch. She padded softly up to him and sniffed, and she didn't detect any alcohol. She sighed with relief. _

_After getting dressed, Brenda pulled out a steno notebook and a pen. She had decided the night before, at the gates of sleep, to be the peacemaker. She would apologize for whatever Fritz thought she did wrong, and promise to tell Will to back off. And as mad as she was for Fritz using love as a weapon, she left him a note saying, "I love you too." She hoped that would soothe his ego and assure him that she was committed to him, that she had no interest in Will Pope. She left the notepad in a place he couldn't miss, and headed out to her car, carrying the garbage bag full of Pope-memories. Yesterday had been a landmark day: her reputation tarnished and her boyfriend infuriated, all in the span of four hours, thanks to Will Pope. She backed out of the driveway and tried to force the jumble of emotions within her to quiet down and go in to hibernation. There was no room for feelings in PHD, at least not for her. _


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Flashbacks are in italics.  
**

**Chapter 4**

_**12 years ago**_

_Brenda sat in the dingy break room on her floor at the DCPD, unenthusiastically picking at her egg salad sandwich and thinking about the Ding-Dong's she had in her desk drawer. After a few bites, she gave up and just concentrated on the bag of chips the deli gave along with the sandwich. _

"_May I join you?" a deep male voice said. Brenda looked up and saw the handsome face of Fritz Howard, her favorite detective at the DCPD. She smiled and waved her hand in a gesture of welcoming. Fritz smiled back and sat across from her at the small table, setting his own lunch down._

"_How are you, Brenda?" he said, looking a little too long at her with soft brown eyes. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask you, did the CIA ever locate that mob bosses' father in Belarus? I have been dying to know, and find out what they are going to do with the asshole."_

_Brenda shook her head. "Now Fritz, you know I can't tell you that," she said, her voice light and mocking. "That's classified information."_

"_Yea, I know," he said, unwrapping his own sandwich from the same deli Brenda got hers. "But I figure if I keep asking, one of these days you are going to slip up and tell me, and I'll finally get a little closure with these joint DC-CIA investigations." _

_She raised her eyebrow at him. "I don't slip up, Fritz, ever. So stop tryin'." A smile played on her lips._

"_Even after a few glasses of Merlot?"_

"_Even after a few bottles of Merlot," she laughed, "so don't get any ideas, Detective Howard. I could have you thrown in some godforsaken prison in some godforsaken country for even tryin to get secrets out of me.'"_

_He raised his hands in mock surprise. "Okay, okay, I won't try to make you give away secrets. But doesn't all this cloak and dagger stuff get old?"_

_She sighed and took a swig of her Coke. "It does, Fritz. That's why I'm thinkin' of moving into domestic criminal investigation."_

"_You mean the FBI?"_

_She shrugged. "Maybe. I got some other things in my life I have to get in order first." She thought of Will and his promise to leave his wife for her. That would be the perfect time for her to leave the DCPD and go to the Bureau. After all, it wouldn't look good for them to be married and working together._

_Fritz nodded. "Yea, I've been thinking about the Bureau for awhile now. I might apply for the next year's class."_

_Brenda nodded. She always felt Fritz was too talented to be stuck as a detective at the DCPD. "What does Elaine have to say about that?"_

"_Elaine? Do you mean Cindy, my girlfriend?"_

_Brenda nodded. "Yea, sorry, Cindy. Or I should have asked first, what is the status today?"_

_He sighed. "Off again. She's my girlfriend no more, I'm a free agent. This time for good."_

"_Ooooo-kaayy," Brenda said slowly, "if you say so."_

"_No, this time I mean it, Brenda," Fritz sounded irritated. "She's gone for good."_

_Brenda had clearly touched a nerve and instantly felt guilty. "I'm sorry, Fritz, I didn't mean to tease. I know how complicated relationships can be." Boy, do I ever, she thought._

_Fritz seemed eager to change the subject. "Are you going out to dinner with us next Tuesday for Carol's birthday?" he asked. "Should be fun."_

_Fritz treated Brenda differently than any other man at the DCPD. He didn't hit on her, stare at her breasts, treat her like an annoyance, or out and out ignore her. Instead, he drew her in, became her friend, and invited her to social events with the others in the department. At first she was very reluctant to go, but Fritz badgered her, and it turned out to be a good thing. The other detectives got to know her outside of work, and seemed to enjoy her company. She made friends with a few of the female officers, and it made her job a lot easier to have friendly faces around and people who genuinely seemed glad to see her. She was grateful to Fritz for extending a hand out to her when no one else had bothered._

_She nodded. "Yes, I got the e-mail about Carol's party. If I can, I will certainly come, unless coming comes up work-wise."_

"_And then you'll have to grab your cloak and dagger and run out of here to save the free world," he joked._

"_You make me sound like a superhero!" she laughed._

_Fritz got quiet, picking at his turkey sandwich. He cleared his throat. "Hey Brenda?"_

"_Yeah?"_

"_I was wondering something. I don't know if you are seeing anyone or not, well, I have never heard you mention anyone before so I thought you probably weren't. So if your not, I was wondering if you would like to have dinner with me on Saturday night?" He looked up at her hopefully, reminding her for all the world of an anxious teenager._

_Her stomach dropped. She knew Fritz was attracted to her, but she had hoped he wouldn't actually ask her out, since they worked together. She didn't want to hurt him, but she was taken. It's just that she couldn't tell him by whom._

"_Oh Fritz, I'm sorry," she said. "I am seeing someone."_

_His face crumbled, and Brenda's heart lurched. "Oh, I see," he said, his voice thick with disappointment. "I didn't know you had a boyfriend or I wouldn't have asked." He finally looked at her. "Who is he, and how come I've never heard about him?" he asked._

_Brenda hesitated. Damn, this was hard. "Fritz, it's complicated," she said, her voice getting quieter. "Just-complicated. I can't really talk about him. Let's leave it at that."_

_Understanding dawned in Fritz's eyes. "Oh," he said curtly. "I get it Brenda. Well, if you are taken, I guess this will be it, we will just be friends." He held out her hand to shake._

"_Friends," she echoed him, reaching out as he enfolded his large, warm hand over hers. She felt a spark of attraction somewhere low in her belly._

_When he finally released his hand, which seemed like a very long time, he gathered the remainder of his lunch and stood up. "Well Brenda, I'll see you on Tuesday night, with the rest of the gang," he said coolly. "Have a good day." With that, he turned around and walked out of the lunch room._

_Brenda stared at him as he departed, his handsome form impeccably dressed in a dark grey suit. And she wondered, not for the first time, if she was making a terrible mistake by dating Will Pope. If she were single, she would have jumped at the chance to go out with someone like Fritz. But instead she just hurt his feelings, because he thought that she had just pulled the "invisible boyfriend" stunt on him. She groaned._

_Invisible boyfriends, and girlfriends, were used when the person being asked out doesn't have the courage to turn a date down being honest and saying they aren't interested. It was a crappy lie to use, one Brenda would never stoop to. She had no problem telling guys who ask her out "no" to their faces. It saved a lot of trouble in the long run. But here was Fritz, a good friend and a man she respected a great deal, thinking he just got the "invisible boyfriend" treatment from Brenda. She felt awful, and angry at Will. He always told her that their relationship would be brought out into the light as soon as he left Ann, but when was that going to be? How many good men were going to ask her out before she could finally say who she was dating? It wasn't fair. She gathered the egg salad sandwich and tossed it, along with her empty bag of chips and can of Coke. She noticed Fritz has left his bag of chips on the table, probably not by accident. She picked them up and headed back to her office, feeling miserable._

_**5 days later**_

_The restaurant chosen to celebrate Carol's birthday was noisy, and not a place Brenda would have chosen herself. About 20 people from different divisions were there, all carrying on lively conversations with the people around them. Brenda sat quietly at the end of the table, sipping Merlot. She usually sat next to Fritz, but he was at the opposite end, talking animatedly to his partner Mike._

_Brenda made a decision, one she hoped she wouldn't regret in the morning. She ordered a few more glasses of liquid courage and waited until she could catch Fritz alone. When he got up to use the restroom, she followed him as surreptitiously as her CIA training prepared her for._

"_Hey Fritz?" she said softly, as soon as they were out of sight from the table._

_He turned around and smiled when he saw her. "Hi Brenda," he said. "Are you following me to the bathroom for a reason?" He gave her one of his boyish grins. At least he doesn't seem too angry at me, she thought._

"_Yes. No. I mean yes, I followed you to the bathroom, but no, not really, it's just that…" she realized she was doing her awkward rambling thing. Fritz looked at her in amusement._

"_Let me try this again. I was hoping to get you alone to ask if you want to go out for a drink after dinner. Just the two of us. I wanted to talk." Her heart was beating so fast she thought he must be able to see it._

"_Sure," he said, looking happy. "I would love to. Give me the nod and we will slip out when dinner is over. Separately, of course. I wouldn't want any rumors to start," he said suggestively._

_She felt her temperature rise. Damn, this man is sexy. "Okay, then, thanks Fritz." She nodded her head and returned to her seat at the table. _

_It turned out that leaving together was easier than she thought. Several people got up right after dinner and said their goodbyes, citing the late hour and the fact that tomorrow was a work day. Brenda made eye contact with Fritz and he nodded slightly. They both put their respective financial contribution on the table and left along with the other early departers. Once outside, the flurry of goodbyes covered their quick disappearance down a side street. Fritz led her to a small, well lighted bar and asked her if this was okay. She nodded yes, and they found a seat._

_After they ordered, Fritz looked at Brenda expectantly. She saw the hope and desire in his eyes, and she was sorry that she wasn't going to tell him what he wanted to hear, but she prayed it would preserve their friendship. And she desperately prayed she wasn't making a huge mistake._

_She took a deep breath. "Fritz, if I told you something that is very secret, will you swear it will never go any farther than this table?" She stared at him intently._

"_Is this about the mob boss the CIA captured?" he asked, looking confused._

_She nearly laughed. "No Fritz, it's about me, and it's very personal. And I need to know I can trust you with this."_

_Fritz finally got the serious nature of her request. "Of course you can trust me, Brenda," he said, his hand resting lightly on hers. "Whatever you tell me, I promise I won't ever tell anyone else. You have my word."_

_She looked at his deep brown eyes and could tell he was earnest. "Okay," she said, nodding. "About the other day…" they were interrupted by the waitress bringing them their drinks._

_After she took a few gulps of Merlot, she started again. "The other day, when you asked me out to dinner, I said I was seein' someone."_

"_Yea," Fritz said slowly. "The mysterious boyfriend no one has ever heard about before. Brenda, if you don't want to go out on a date with me, why didn't you just say so? I'm a big boy, I can handle it." She wasn't so sure. He still looked hurt._

"_Fritz, I would never lie to you, or take the easy way out of declinin' an invitation. Do I seem like the type of person who backs away from conflict?"_

_He shook his head._

"_Truth is, Fritz, I am seein' someone, but I couldn't tell you who."_

"_Why not?" he asked, irritated._

_Another drink of Merlot. "It's Will Pope," she whispered, staring at the table._

_Silence. Brenda looked up at Fritz. His brow was knitted, and he seemed confused._

"_Will Pope?" he said, and Brenda shushed him to keep his voice down. "You mean, Commander Pope?"_

"_Yes," Brenda said. "That Will Pope."_

"_But Brenda, he's married!" Fritz looked incredulous._

_She rolled her eyes. "Yea, I noticed that, Fritz."_

"_Brenda, why is Pope dating you? He's got a wife!" Brenda was surprised the question. She was expecting Fritz to ask her why she was dating a married man._

"_We didn't plan on it, Fritz, this isn't exactly my dream situation," she said harshly. "It just—happened is all. Sometimes these things just happen. He's unhappy in his marriage, so he is going to leave her anyways." Brenda sounded defensive, even to her own ears._

"_How long have you two—been having an affair?" Fritz asked, frowning at Brenda._

"_About a year now. And no one knows, I am countin' on you to help keep it that way."_

_Fritz ignored her. "You have been seeing him for a year, and he still hasn't left his wife for you? Come on, Brenda…"_

_She help her hand up. "Stop, Fritz, right there. I didn't tell you this because I wanted a lecture, okay? The details of my relationship with Will are private, and way too complicated to explain. I told you because I didn't want you to think I made up a boyfriend as a way of turning you down, is all. I didn't want to lose your friendship." She said it with an edge to her voice, indicating that this conversation was over._

_Fritz nodded slowly, still looking shell-shocked. "I understand, I'm just a but surprised, that's all. But I appreciate it that you trust me enough to tell me, and you didn't want me to think you lied to me. That means a lot, Brenda." He reached out and gently stroked her cheek. "I hope he treats you well," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Because you deserve only the best." Their eyes locked, and for a brief second, Brenda had a premonition that her life was going to intertwine with his yet. She shook her head and looked away at her foolishness, not believing in that sort of stuff._

"_Fritz, I just want to know, well, if knowin' about this has changed your opinion of me. Because I really wouldn't want it to. Your respect means to much to me." She bit her lip nervously._

_Fritz slowly lowered his hand from her face, as if reluctant to do so. "Brenda, there is nothing you could ever do to make me stop liking you. Ever."_

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
_

Fritz was coming home.

Brenda chanted it like a mantra in her head all day on Thursday, feeling like a school kid right before summer vacation. Fritz had called the night before and told her he wormed his way out of attending the Friday morning speakers, and was flying home Thursday afternoon, one day earlier than planned. He plane was due to land around 7:30 at LAX. That means he will be home 8:30, and they will have the entire evening to catch up. He said that tongue in cheek, because judging by the heat of the phone sex they were having every night, there would be little "catching up" that evening. Which was more than fine with Brenda. She had no intention to tell him about Pope, and she didn't want Fritz to figure out there was something wrong. Better to keep their reunion as nonverbal as possible.

She left work at an uncharacteristically early hour and walked the two blocks to the lingerie store she liked. Brenda had given them a fair amount of business over the past few years, indulging herself with beautiful silk and satin garments while simultaneously sending Fritz into a frenzy. She wanted something new for tonight; a little more classy than a garter belt and fishnet hose, but still revealing. She settled on a dark red peignoir set. The ankle-length nightgown had a lace bodice with spaghetti straps, but the rest of the garment was made of sheer garnet-colored tulle. The panels were split up in the front to the bodice, so her legs showed when she walked. The robe was a thick satin trimmed matching lace with sheer bell-shaped sleeves. Brenda smiled to herself as she tried to ignore the price as she handed over her Visa to the cashier. If this doesn't distract Fritz tonight, she thought, nothing will.

She made a couple more stops on her way home, then started to prepare for Fritz's arrival. Brenda cut up the strawberries, pears, and peaches she had bought and arranged them in a circle around a block of brie cheese. She carried this, a bottle of sparkling cider and two fluted glasses up to the bedroom and placed them on her side table. Brenda didn't have the patience to go searching through the unpacked boxes for candles, so she bought several new ones at the Yankee Candle shop. She tried to pick scents that would mingle well, such as cinnamon and vanilla, so that the apartment wouldn't end up smelling like a perfume factory had exploded. She set several candles around the living and dining room, and then four more in the bedroom. As she was just stepping into the shower, Fritz called to say his flight had landed, and he should be home in 45 minutes. Perfect timing, Brenda thought. She used her favorite shower gel, L'aire du Temps, which Fritz bought her every Christmas, and she saved for special occasions. She used matching lotion and then fussed with her hair and makeup. When Brenda put on the new negligee, she had to admit that she looked pretty damn good. And she had no doubt Fritz would think so too.

She grabbed a box of matches and went throughout the house lighting the candles she had placed throughout. When she was done, she surveyed the effect. She turned off all the lights, and the glow from the candles in the living room and dining room make the apartment look magical. It also made the apartment look a little like the last scene in the movie "Carrie," she thought to herself wryly. She spotted Kitty sleeping on the windowsill. "Kitty, if you knock over one of these candles, I'm gonna be really mad at you, got it?" Kitty just yawned nonchalantly and laid her head back down.

Brenda poured herself a glass of Merlot and sipped it while sitting in the living room. When the last drop had slid down her throat, she heard a car drive up. She smiled and stood up, leaning against the back of the couch provocatively, making sure she would be the first thing Fritz saw when he came through the door, and not all the boxes pushed up against the walls. His keys jingled, and she could tell he was trying to balance his luggage while unlocking the apartment door. She should help him, she knew, but she didn't want to lose the effect of the pose.

Fritz finally got the door open, and turned around to grab a suitcase behind him before looking up. He froze. "Brenda?" he said, as if he wasn't sure of what he was seeing.

"Welcome home, Fritzy," she said in her best sultry voice. "Why don't you dump those bags by the door and come and give me a kiss?"

Fritz did just that. She was in his arms before she knew it, and he picked her up and spun her around. "My girl," he whispered when he set her down, kissing her head. "God, I've missed you so much. The apartment is so beautiful lit up like this. And you look so sexy, Brenda," He lowered his mouth and gave her a long kiss.

Breaking for air, Brenda smiled at him. "I wanted somethin' special waitin' for you, so you'd know how much I missed you." He was caressing her lower back and pressing his lips to her forehead.

"I always had something special waiting for me, Brenda. You." She reached behind his head and placed her hand on his neck, pulling him down for another deep kiss. His hand slowly traveled down her shoulder and rested lightly on her breast. She pulled his shirt out of his jeans and ran her nails up and down his back.

"Well, one problem has been solved." Fritz said, his voice gruff. "I spent the entire flight thinking of ways to get you into bed as soon as I walked through the door." He kissed her neck. "By the looks of things, that isn't going to be very difficult." He traced the lace of her bodice with his finger.

"No, it won't," she said, her voice thick with desire. She took him by the hand, led him past all the different colored and scented candles, and into the bedroom.

________________________________________________

Later on, they lay side to side holding hands, warm flesh to warm flesh, catching their breaths and enjoying their closeness. The room smelled like sweat mingled with the indistinguishable sweetness emitting form the flickering candles. Brenda gazed up at the ceiling and watched the shadows created by the dancing flames, feeling better than she had in a week. Fritz's mere presence instilled a sense of peace within her, and when they made love, the whole world had melted away. At that moment, she felt like everything was right in the universe. She sighed and closed her eyes, grateful for these unflawed moments in her life.

Fritz untwined their hands and reverently kissed her palm. He then lightly kissed each finger separately, then kissed the top of her hand, as if she were a queen and he were a suitor. Brenda was too deep in her place of bliss to notice Fritz's pause.

"Brenda," he said, concern in his voice. She opened her eyes and looked at him. He was staring at the top of her right hand with concern. "Your knuckles are bruised, and you have a cut here." He frowned. Brenda tried to pull her hand away, but he held tight. He picked up a candle next to the bed and brought it closer to him to shed more light on her hand. "Brenda, did you punch somebody?" Fritz looked at her, incredulous.

Dammit. All week long she had covered the cut with a Band-Aid, and no one had commented on it. She didn't want Fritz to see it, for this exact reason. Any cut, bruise, headache, or stomach pain always caught his attention, and he made it a bigger deal than it was. The Band-Aid must have fallen off in the shower, she thought. She was in such a rush to get the apartment ready she hadn't noticed.

She tugged at her hand again but Fritz still wouldn't let go. She forced her tone to be light. "Fritz, of course I didn't punch anybody! Why in the world would you think that, for heaven's sake?"

"Because I have gotten enough fist fights in my life to know what it does to your knuckles, and from the looks of your hand, honey, it seems like you gave someone a serious right hook." He wrinkled his forehead. "Brenda, you didn't hit a suspect, did you? I know that's not your style, but, well, even you can lose it in an interview. It that's what's going on? You sounded funny on the phone when we talked this week."

Brenda gave a final tug; Fritz had relaxed his grip and she won her hand back. She quickly slipped it under the sheets. "Fritz, I did not beat up a suspect, and I'm not in any kinda trouble for police brutality," she said, irritated. "Who made you a Forensics expert, anyways? I did somethin' really klutzy when I was unpackin', is all. I was tryin' to remove the tape from this one box, and I pulled too hard, my hand slipped and went crashin' into the wall. So yea, I guess you could say I did some punchin', but to a wall, not a person." She held her breath and watched him closely to see if he believed her lie.

He chuckled. "I know I shouldn't laugh, honey, because that must have really hurt. That's why there are box openers in the world, so you don't get injured while opening a box." He ruffled her hair. "Since you have been gravely injured on the job, I'll handle the rest of the unpacking, okay?"

She released the breath she had been holding. "You got it," she said, vaguely relieved that her lie got her out of dealing with any more bubble wrap and cardboard.

"Let me see that hand again, Brenda, I want to check it out."

Why wouldn't he drop it, she though irritably. Brenda realized it was time for diversion. She reached over to her bedside table and grabbed a strawberry, and turned to Fritz. "Oh, I think we have better things to do than talk about my tragic unpackin' accident." She put the strawberry between her teeth and rolled on top of Fritz. As she leaned in toward him she saw the look in his eyes as he reached up to take a bite of the strawberry, she knew her injured hand was all but forgotten.

________________________________________

All hell was breaking loose.

At least, that's what it felt like to Brenda. After a week of working quietly on cold cases, the noise and activity that preceded visiting a fresh crime scene seemed almost overwhelming to her. Usually she felt the rush of adrenaline at the news that there was a case to investigate, but not this time. Cold cases kept her from having to interact with Will, since the media and the higher ups usually weren't too interested in old unsolved murders. But the wife of a famous writer was found dead in their Hollywood home, and the crime had been sent to PHD. Will had called Gabriel instead of her to inform the squad about the murder, an anomaly she hoped didn't make Gabriel suspicious. She had no doubt that Will was as nervous to work with her as she was with him.

Everyone was getting briefed by Gabriel as they put on their coats, and Brenda ducked back into her office to grab her purse. She looked up and saw Fritz coming around the corner, a plastic bag in hand.

She looked at him in surprise. "Fritz, what are you doin' here?" she said brusquely.

"And a good afternoon to you too, Brenda," Fritz said mockingly, raising his eyebrows and smiling.

She sighed. She wasn't in the mood for a manner lesson. "I'm sorry, Fritzy. I was just surprised to see you is all. And we just got called out on a case." Out of the corner of her eye she saw the squad dispersing and Gabriel was walking toward them.

"Do you have to leave right now, Brenda?" Fritz asked. He held up the bag. "I brought lunch from your favorite burrito place. With extra sour cream on yours." He looked at her expectantly.

"Agent Howard, good to see you," said Gabriel, as he approached. "Chief, are you ready to go, or…" he nodded his head at Fritz.

Before Brenda could answer, Fritz said, "I brought Brenda lunch. I was hoping she could be spared for 20 minutes, or am I asking too much?"

Gabriel smiled. "Nice. Wish I had someone bringing me lunch." And again, before Brenda could speak, he said, "Chief, the cops just called about this murder, there's no media yet, we can get started if you want to just drive yourself there when you're done." He handed her a piece of paper. "The address is on here. Is that okay, or do you want me to wait for you?"

Brenda watched as the two main men in her life negotiated her afternoon without even consulting her. "I am perfectly capable of gettin' myself to a crime scene," she said testily. "This is gonna be a short lunch, so I'll be arrivin' just 15 minutes after y'all. And whatever you do, don't let SID—" Gabriel cut her off.

"—touch the body. Yea, I got it, Chief, the first 100 crime scenes we went to." Fritz laughed, giving Gabriel a knowing look.

Fritz put his hand on Brenda's back and led her into her office, setting down the food and giving her a long kiss. "Hey there," he said softly. "Thanks for staying behind. I was thinking about last night and I just didn't feel like waiting until tonight to see you." He held her close and rested his chin on her head.

Brenda melted into his embrace, despite her ire. She didn't like her personal life interfering with per professional one, and a burrito was not worth being late to a crime scene. But she realized Fritz was just trying to be nice, and she was so glad he was back that she wasn't going to give him any grief over this.

She let go and sat down at the small round table in her office, facing the door out of habit. You can take the woman out of the CIA, but you can't take the CIA out of the woman, she thought. "Extra sour cream?" she smiled. "You sure 'bout that?"

Fritz opened the bag and handed her a burrito in tin foil, plus an ice tea. "Oh, I'm sure," he said, in his teasing voice. "I would never risk facing your wrath otherwise." They laughed, and Fritz began to tell her about everything that had happened since he had been away at work.

"Two hundred e-mails, can you believe it? You think once people got the "out of office" message, they would have stopped sending me stuff, but no, everyone just ignored it."

"But didn't you check your e-mail on your Blueberry?" Brenda asked.

"_Blackberry_," her corrected her.

But before she could find out whether he checked his e-mails remotely, she saw Will approaching her office. She froze. Since Fritz's back was to the door, and the little table was tucked into the corner, Will had no way of seeing that Fritz was there, so his hesitant knock reflected his wariness of Brenda alone. Brenda had no choice but to tell him to come in, for turning him away would look suspicious to both men, so Will entered.

For one brief second, if time had slowed down like Brenda felt it had, it could have been a scene out of a comedy. Will, looking timid to begin with, turned and saw Fritz, and he physically startled. Brenda stared at Fritz to see his reaction to Will's appearance, while Will looked at Brenda to try and gauge if he was about to get punched again. Fritz looked at Brenda with an irritated expression, angry to have their lunch interrupted, and gave Will a dirty look. Brenda just looked back and forth between the two men as if she were at a tennis match, while both men kept looking at her.

Finally Fritz spoke, and time resumed its normal pace. "Jesus Will, what happened to your face? Looks like you took quite a blow there." Fritz put his burrito down and leaned back in his chair.

Will again looked at Brenda, and he realized from her blank expression and Fritz's casual tone that Fritz knew nothing about his indiscretion. He visibly relaxed.

"Oh, my son and I were just roughhousing, and he got a little carried away."

"I'll say," answered Fritz, shaking his head.

Before Fritz had the chance to ask any more questions, Will quickly walked over to Brenda and handed her a file. "Is your squad already on their way to the crime scene?" he asked briskly.

"Yes they are," answered Brenda, "and I'm headin' over there right now. What's this you're givin' me?"

"I just got some background information on this Cole Banks, the writer, that might be useful," he said, already backing out of the office. "We'll talk again once you have finished with the crime scene and examined this guy's wife." Will opened the door and was halfway out of it before either Fritz or Brenda could say goodbye.

Fritz picked up his burrito and took a big bite. "Jeez, what's up with Will? He's jumpy as hell. Never seen him like that." Fritz swallowed and took a swig of his Diet Coke. "And I'll tell ya, Brenda, no little kid did that to his face. He's hiding something. He was clearly on the receiving end of a serious punch. I wonder…" Fritz froze.

Brenda knew by the look on Fritz's face that he had made the connection. He dropped his food on the table, jumped up, and opened the door, staring at Will's figure at the far end of the hall. For a second Brenda thought Fritz was going after Will, and she stood up too, prepared to physically stop him. Instead, Fritz closed the door and whirled around.

"Isn't it strange," he said slowly, but with anger seeping through each word, "that Will Pope clearly took a punch from a right hander with a small hand,"— he roughly grabbed Brenda's wrist—"and you have bruised knuckles that look exactly like you hit somebody." Fritz released her arm as if it revolted him. "Do you care to comment, Chief Johnson, since you don't believe in coincidences?" He was breathing fast now, his face growing red.

Brenda's mouth was dry, and it felt like her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. She had no idea what to say, what lie to tell, how to explain. She wasn't prepared for Fritz to run into Will with his face looking like that, giving Fritz the chance to put two and two together. For once in her life, she was speechless.

"Can't think of another lie fast enough?" Fritz scoffed. "Well, that's too bad, Brenda, because my mind is going crazy with all kinds of horrible scenarios. I can only imagine what it would take for you to punch Will Pope, _your boss_, Brenda. And in my head, it doesn't look pretty." Silence for a second. "Look at me," he commanded. Brenda obeyed, too shocked to protest being told what to do. "Are you going to say anything, Brenda, for god's sake?"

She shook her head. "Stop," she said weakly. The passivity in her voice startled her.

"Stop what?" Fritz said, louder and angrier. "Stop asking for the truth? Stop imagining what went on between Will and you?" She said nothing. "Listen to me," he said, barely able to control his voice. "I want you home tonight at a decent hour. I don't give a damn how many famous people are killed today, you are not going to use your case as an excuse to stay away from me." She lowered her eyes. "I want you home tonight, and I want an explanation. Do you hear me?"

Fritz's patronizing words snapped Brenda back into herself, and she glared at him. "How dare you come into my office and speak to me in that tone?" she hissed. "Don't you dare raise your voice at me at my workplace, ever." She stepped toward him, hoping to erase her passivity of the previous moments. "I will be home when I can tonight so we can talk, Fritz, and I'll tell you what you want to know. But right now, I want you out. I have a crime scene to go to, and you have already made me late."

"My apologies for bringing you lunch, Chief Johnson," he said sarcastically. "And uncovering something you obviously didn't want me to know about." He turned and opened the door. "I will be home tonight by 8, and I am expecting you to do the same, Brenda. Don't pull anything, and don't test me on this one." With that, he stormed out.

Brenda sat down, pushing her forgotten lunch to the side. She put her hands together as if in prayer and rested her chin on her thumbs, desperately fighting back the tears. She hadn't seen Fritz that angry in a long time, and now she had to tell him the truth. She didn't even want to think about his reaction. What was this, this twisted karma she was always victim to, that made her suffer for Will's bad acts?

She stood up slowly, taking a drink of ice tea and putting on her blazer. All that had to be forgotten about for now, put away until the inevitable confrontation tonight, when hopefully her silver tongue will be able to tell the truth without infuriating Fritz. But right now she had a crime scene to go to, and she could bring no emotions with her, only her objectivity.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I swear I'm not pimping my own stories, but from this point on, having read "The Ghosts that Haunt Me" will give you a much richer understanding of Brenda's emotions. If you haven't had time or, say, have a job or something, here is a brief summary: early on in her relationship to Fritz, Brenda tells him about her past relationships with men, which were a disaster. She reveals details about her disasterous marriage, and her experience with an abusive ex-boyfriend. Hence why our girl is so wary of opening up emotionally to the ever-patient (and oh so hot) Agent Howard. **

**Again, flashbacks are in italics.**

**Chapter 5**

_**13 years ago**_

_Brenda stepped into her small Georgetown apartment and was instantly glad she had left the air conditioning on that morning. The hot, humid breath of the DC summer had fused her clothes to her skin, and she stripped as soon as she shut the door, rivulets of sweat still running down her back despite the apartment's coolness. She placed the AC on high and headed to the bathroom. Passing the living room, she noticed the light blinking on her answering machine. She hit the "Play" button as she darted into the bathroom to start the shower running, coming out in time to hear the message._

_"Hi Brenda, it's Jason," a familiar voice said. Brenda smiled, as she ran his vital statistics through her head. 6'2", electrical engineer, incredibly handsome, and amazing in bed. They had been dating for three months, and Brenda had fallen for him, hard. She had to cancel their last two dates because of unexpected travel for the CIA, and Jason was understanding. But tonight she was home, and she had an hour before he was due to pick her up for dinner. She really hoped it would turn into a sleepover. She stopped daydreaming and listened to the message._

_"I'm not sure if you will even be able to make it out tonight, because you have been so busy with your job lately. Brenda, I think we want different things, and there isn't any point of us continuing to see each other. I'm looking for someone to settle down with, and you are, well, pretty obsessed with your career. It's just not going to work out." He paused briefly. "I wish you the best of luck." Then he hung up the phone._

_Brenda stood in her sweat-soaked bra and underwear in her living room, staring at the answering machine, frozen in place. She couldn't process what just happened…did Jason break up with her over the phone? Was he for real? After standing mutely for a few minutes, she was brought out of her stoned silence by the sound of the shower running. In automatic mode, she took off her remaining clothes and stepped under the cool stream, letting it run through her thick, unruly hair down her back._

_The water revived her a bit, and her brain started to move again. Jason, the man she was crazy about and the one she thought was crazy about her too, had just broken up with her in a phone message. Brenda was torn between being outraged for his cowardly dismissal of her and the wave of sadness that was beginning to build in her stomach. Her eyes smarted with tears, so she let despair take over. Her tears mixed with the water on her face, and were washed down the drain along with the shampoo she was vigorously scrubbing her head with. A small sob caught in her throat as she reached for the soap, and she began to cry louder. Why would he do this to her, she thought. What's wrong with him? What's wrong with me? Brenda closed her eyes and leaned her forehead against the cool tile, trying to press out thoughts of Jason. Just five minutes ago, she was excited to get to see him, and thought he felt the same. She felt loved, wanted, desired. And now, now she felt used up. Again._

_Brenda never had a problem attracting men. She was good-looking and knew how to use her womanly charms. She could walk into a party and turn heads, and after just a few minutes, she would choose who she wanted to talk to. Using her interrogator skills she learned at the CIA and her Southern charm, she would unknowingly interview men to see if they were someone she considered datable. If not, she moved on with a smile and a platitude that sounded genuine in her accent. The truth she always worked hard to uncover was a potential date's intentions: was he asking her out because he thought she was interesting, or because he wanted sex? Brenda knew she was very attractive to men, and separating out the chaff from the wheat was not always easy. She also tried to determine how a man felt about her job at the CIA. If he showed any sign at all that he was intimidated by her job, she would have nothing to do with him. She saw telling a man her profession as a quick screening test: if he was so sexist that he was intimidated by a CIA agent, than he wasn't someone she wanted to be with anyways._

_She screened out many, but those who passed the test were men like Jason, handsome, polite, and totally fascinated by her. So she had thought. Breakups were usually initiated by her, but lately that trend had changed. Did I lose my touch, she thought, as she wrapped a towel around her hair and another one around her waist. She lay down on her bed, the air conditioning hitting her damp skin and giving her goosebumps. She rolled over on her side and wrapped her arms around her legs. She did a little mental math, quickly reviewing her love life over the past year. She dated Brian last summer, a freelance writer whom she met in her favorite coffee shop one afternoon. Brian didn't have to go to an office every morning like she did, and he would wrestle with her when the alarm went off and tried to persuade her to go into work a little late. She gave in sometimes, since Brian knew exactly where to kiss her to add to his persuasiveness, but she tried to stay strong and would extricate herself from his arms and head to the office. One morning, he didn't even try to seduce her. He got up when she did, kissed her goodbye, and then she never heard from him again. All her phone calls were left unanswered. She was so angry that she went by his house one night, ready to give him a tongue lashing for treating her so shabbily, but when she rang the door, a twenty-something young woman in a tight GW tee-shirt answered the door. Brenda made excuses and fled. Well, good for him, she had thought bitterly, he finally found someone who had a flexible schedule to lay in bed with all day._

_Brenda met Dan a few months later at her friend Carly's Christmas party. She had a few glasses of Merlot and some Christmas punch and wasn't feeling any pain. As she was helping herself to the Christmas cookies, an older man with a deep voice started speaking to her. Dan was a very successful defense contractor, divorced with two teenage kids. It didn't bother her that he was divorced, but she made sure the kids lived with their mother before she accepted his invitation for dinner. She had heard that women reach their sexual peak at 30, and she had to agree. She felt like she hummed with hormones all the time, and if she was going to get her hands on a man as handsome as Dan, she didn't want children crimping their style._

_Looking back, she realized their relationship was just about expensive dinners and sex, not that she minded either one. But her mother had drilled into her that she was 30, high time to be getting married and starting a family. "Tick tock goes the clock!" Willie Rae would say to her on the phone every time they talked. Brenda got weary of the pressure from her parents, but some of it rubbed off, because she would assess each boyfriend to see if they were husband material. In her mind Dan would make a good husband, even though he was older than her. He seemed fascinated by her job in the CIA and even more fascinated with her body. She thought he felt the same way she did, that their relationship had potential, until he dropped a bomb on her one day. He had been offered a contracting post in Saudi Arabia, and was moving the following month. He hadn't taken her into consideration at all, as if she was a piece of furniture that had to be left behind. Dan seemed shocked by Brenda's reaction, truly confused at Brenda's tears and ranting. "We were just having fun here, weren't we?" he said, surprised. Brenda realized that he didn't really feel anything for her, and certainly had no intention of marrying her. She stood up at their table in an expensive DC steakhouse and, ignoring her mother's admonition to never make a scene, threw her half-empty glass of wine in his face and quickly walked away. If other diners were staring at her, she didn't notice. She was too busy hoping the Merlot would permanently stain his $2000 light grey suit._

_And then she met Jason. Three men in one year, Brenda thought to herself as she rolled on her back, her right hand rubbing the tears from her eyes. She had lost her touch, her ability to discern which men were going to stick around until she wanted them gone. Well, time to change things, she thought angrily, standing up suddenly and ripping off her towel and throwing it on the floor. She grabbed an old pair of sweatpants and a CIA tee-shirt and threw them on, knocking off the towel on her head as she dressed, her wet hair now clinging to her face. She angrily tossed and back as she decided she was done with emotional attachment. From now on, it's just gonna be about sex, she told herself. Men have treated women like this for years, so she would do the same. No more assessing men to see if their were marriage material. She would just take what her body was aching for and expect nothing else, and would run away if she felt that she was falling into a relationship again. Brenda hated to be hurt, because it was so hard to make herself vulnerable to anyone. Never again, she told herself, as she took a comb and started working on the tangles in her hair. No more "I love yous" and thoughts of the future. No more hurt. She put the comb down decisively, happy with her new plan, and went into the kitchen to seek out some Ho-Ho's._

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"You're leaving? Now?" Gabriel looked so surprised that his eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.

"Yes, Sergeant, like I just told you, I have somethin' important to take care of tonight."

She looked at her watch. It was already past 8. Fritz wanted her home by now, but she refused to respond to his demands. She would come home, yes. On time, no.

"But it's just that, well, you never leave when we're working on a fresh investigation, and I just assumed you would want to be around when—"

Brenda cut him off. "Sergeant, I do not believe that I have to justify all my decisions to you," she said brusquely. "We are interviewin' the victim's husband tomorrow when he gets back from London. Everyone in the Squad is very clear on what they are supposed to be doin.' I believe I can leave y'all to your own devices for one evenin' and still find the investigation intact when I return." She reached into her desk drawer and grabbed her purse. Gabriel was silent, afraid to speak, acutely aware of her mood.

"If somethin' urgent comes up, I'm a phone call away," she said in a softer tone. "Let me know if you need anything. If not, I'll be seein' you tomorrow." Without waiting for his reply, she turned and walked about the back door.

In truth, Brenda had tremendous reservations about leaving the squad to its own devices this early in a murder investigation. In fact, she had never done so before. She knew she was a micromanager, but she was ultimately responsible for all aspects of an investigation, and so she wanted to oversee every step of the process. She wasn't the least surprised at Gabriel's reaction. She just want not going to tell him she had to walk away from her responsibilities to have a huge confrontation with Fritz.

She thought about ignoring Fritz's edict to come home at a decent hour and discuss what happened between her and Will. She didn't like to be told what to do, and she wasn't in the mood for any more drama. She believed in her daddy's opinion that it is better to ask for forgiveness than permission, but not showing up tonight would just make a big fight that much bigger, and Fritz's jealousy fueled into a bonfire.

She turned into the driveway and saw Fritz's car already there, and the lights were on in the apartment. She unlocked the door and let herself in, not knowing exactly what to expect. But all was quiet: Kitty ran up to greet her, and Fritz was sitting on the floor with his back to her, unpacking a box of books and putting them on a shelf. He said nothing when she walked through the door, so she decided to go to the kitchen and grab a glass of Merlot. She was halfway there when Fritz spoke. "You're late," he said, his voice flat. He didn't turn around, but continued to unpack his books.

"I got here as soon as I can, Fritz. As you know, I am investigatin' a major case, and it was real hard for me to get away."

"How very kind of you then," he said, with an edge of sarcasm, "to take the time out of your busy schedule to come home and have a discussion with your fiancé. Oh, did I say discussion? I meant confession. I'm not sure I have a lot to contribute to this talk, just a lot of questions." He finally turned around and looked at her. "Looks like the tables are turned on the interrogator, aren't they?" His eyes were cold.

She said nothing. Fritz wasn't one to pick a fight, to choose hurtful words to goad the other into anger. That was more her game. It was amazing what jealousy over Will Pope could do to him.

"I'm gonna get a glass of wine, Fritz, and then I'll be right back," she said, turning her back on him. Her hands were shaking so badly that she was afraid she would slip and cut herself with the corkscrew. At last, the bottle was open, the glass filled, and Brenda had no more excuses not to face Fritz. At the last minute, she reached and grabbed the entire bottle to bring out with her.

Fritz was sitting on the couch, his arms folded across his chest. Brenda chose the armchair across from him and set the bottle at her feet.

"Tell me Brenda," he said, "do you think it is possible for you to get through a difficult conversation without a drink in your hand?"

"I'm not real sure Fritz, but you know what? The way you are actin' is tellin' me tonight isn't the night to find out." She took a large gulp out of her wine glass.

Fritz uncrossed his arms and leaned toward her. "The way I'm acting? You have got to be kidding me. Like this is all my fault. You lied to me, Brenda. Again. And I don't even know what about, but I know it isn't good. So don't feed me some bullshit about how I'm acting."

Brenda said nothing, just took a deep drink from her glass. Fritz looked embarrassed at his outburst, and reached out and picked up one of the candles from the previous night and played with it for a moment. He looked at her and said, "so, is that what last night was all about?" He brought the candle to his nose and sniffed it.

She was confused. "Was what last night was all about? I don't know what you're goin' on about."

He gestured toward her with the candle. "The romantic welcome I got last night. The romantic lighting, the fruit, the negligee, the sex. Was that all because you were hiding something you didn't want me to know about and felt bad?" He said this to her quietly, each word clipped.

She just stared at him. "Are you askin' me if the only reason I made love to last night was because I felt guilty? Is that what yer sayin', Fritz? Because if you are, you might as well just call me a whore and get it over with." She felt her own anger surge forth. "Did it occur to you that maybe I wanted last night to be special because I really missed you? Or do you just think everything I do that's nice has an ulterior motive?" She glared at him. It was true that she did want to make last night special because she felt so torn about withholding the truth from him, but for him to question if she had sex with him for any reason besides wanting to made her feel cheap.

Fritz sighed and placed the candle back down on the end table. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm just tired of stumbling on your secrets and then wondering why you can't be honest with me. When you lie to me, it's really hard not to question everything you do. I keep wondering about that magical day when you are actually going to tell me the truth about things." He bowed his head and ran his hand through his thick hair. "So Brenda, tell me what happened between you and Pope. And be completely honest with me, no editing."

"Would you like me to sign an official legal document attestin' to the truth?"

"No, but I would like you to cut out the sarcasm just this once."

She glared at him but said nothing.

"Go ahead, Brenda," Fritz said, impatiently. "You and I exchanging verbal barbs isn't going to make any of this any easier."

Brenda stared down into her wine glass, as if the claret-colored liquid could give her strength. "I was lonely," she started, ashamed how shaky her voice sounded. "You were gone and I spent all weekend unpackin,' and I was feelin' pretty low about movin' into this place." She looked around at the cluttered duplex. "I was lookin' forward to Monday, so I could get lost in work and forget about everythin' else. But we didn't have any new cases, so I was bored. I pulled some Cold Cases, and I decided that instead of goin' home, if you can call this place home, I would just spend the evenin' at work goin' through these old cases. I sent everyone else home at 5 and settled in. Around, I don't know, 6 or somethin,' Will stopped by, prattlin' on about his evenin' out, dinner with friends or somethin' like that, I wasn't really payin' attention. He asked me what I was up to and…" her voice faltered a bit, because she knew this was the first of many thing Fritz would be angry about…"well, I told him I was stayin' late to work on a cold case because you were gone and I was tired of unpackin." She looked at Fritz and saw him frowning. "It was a innocent conversation, just small talk was all. A couple hours later I was in the Murder Room when I heard Will come back." She stopped and took a deep breath. Fritz leaned forward as if to make sure not to miss a word. She felt like a sworn witness in a courtroom.

"It was real obvious Will was drunk. And he said to me," she swallowed hard and looked away, "that I shouldn't marry you." She heard Fritz's breath quicken, and she decided to get it over with. "And he told me he was still in love with me." Fritz's breathing got even faster, and when she dared to look at him, she noticed the veins in his neck were visible and his fists were clenched.

"Well, I went nuts, yellin' at him. I told him, oh, it's kind of a blur now, I was just so angry. I let him know I was marryin' you, that I wasn't available, and I had no desire to go back and be treated like crap my him again. And I told him he didn't have the balls to be with me anyways, he was afraid of strong women, but you weren't, you love me for who I am." She finally looked Fritz in the face. "I made sure, Fritz, he knew I was marryin' you, and I would never consider goin' back to him, goin' back to that life of bein' treated like I was disposable, ever again. Not when what we have is so good. And I'm not lyin', Fritz, I made sure he knew that you are the only man I love." She felt tears sting her eyes.

"I believe you Brenda," Fritz said softly, unclenching his fists a bit. "Go on."

But she didn't want to go on. This was the worst part of all. The smell from the glass of wine she was holding started to make her nauseous, so she set it down on the coffee table and stared at her interlaced fingers. "So I'm yellin' at him, usin' words I'm not sure I've ever used before, and Will, he, um…" he throat closed. The shock and revulsion of that moment came back to her, and added to the humiliation of having to relive it in front of Fritz left her speechless for a second. She swallowed hard and willed herself to calm down, and continued. "Will grabbed me and kissed me. It was…just awful." She shuttered at the memory of his entitled tongue against her lips. "So I pulled away and punched him with all my might. And then I pulled my gun on him. And started yellin' a bunch of other things at him I can't quite remember."

Brenda continued to stare at her hands, but she sensed the change in the air. Like standing outside when the pressure drops and the wind foretells of an approaching storm, Brenda could feel the air grow dense and the clouds dark. She was afraid to look at Fritz, scared of the incoming storm, but after awhile she had to. She had no choice.

Brenda thought Fritz looked angry when she had confronted him about his alcoholism several months back, but that was nothing in comparison to the rage that rippled off him now. He was standing up, his face even redder, his hands clenched. And his eyes…Brenda had never seen Fritz's eyes like that, dark and dangerous. She felt a chill in her spine. This was not her Fritz, this was a man made of raw jealously. As irrational at it was, she felt scared.

"Fritz, please sit down," she said, barely above a whisper. "Let me finish. Please Fritzy." She looked at him imploringly. His eyes didn't change.

"You are expecting me," he said, "to sit here quietly when you just told me Will Pope assaulted you? Like I'm not supposed to react to that? Now do you finally believe me when I tell you he still has feelings for you and he won't let anything get in his way? Do you finally get it now, Brenda?" He pointed his finger at her. "That son of a bitch!" he yelled.

"Actually Fritz, I do expect you to sit quietly through this story. You are a grown man, an officer of the law, and I don't think stormin' out and beatin' up Will is gonna do either of us any good. Now sit down, Fritz, and let me finish." He continued to stand, glaring at her. "Please," she said wearily. He sat.

"So like I was sayin', I pulled my gun on him. I told him not to follow me out to my car, and never to come to me drunk and pull this crap again. I grabbed my purse with my gun still on him. Last I saw him that night, he was sittin' at Provenza's desk bleedin' and cryin' like a baby." She stopped and picked up her wine glass, ignoring her stomach as she took a sip. "I went out to my car and came home. And that was that."

"And…that…was…that," Fritz echoed, incredulity on his face.

Brenda decided it was best to keep going, because Fritz didn't look like he was going to be able to hold it together much longer. "Well, Will pulled me into his office the next day and apologized, sayin' he was drunk and it would never happen again. I told him I basically hated his guts for pullin' that crap and now our workin' relationship is gonna be miserable, thanks to him for undoin' three years of hard work. He just kept sayin' over and over again how sorry he was, the jerk." She paused, and Fritz was still silent, so she plunged ahead.

"The reason why I didn't tell you is that I know how you feel about Will, and knowing about this was just gonna make you real mad. And it has. The thing is, Fritz, he's still my boss and I still have to work with him, as awkward and awful as that is. And like you just said, you never trusted him, and now it's gonna be 100 times worse, knowin' what he said and did to me. And I am not leavin' a job I love and am good at because of Will. I've had to do that already in my career. So I thought it was just best for you not to know, because not trustin' Will around me is only gonna make things more stressful. For both of us. I'm sorry I held this back from you, I really am, especially since we just talked about bein' more honest with each other, but I felt, and I still do feel, Fritz, that gettin' you upset too isn't gonna change anythin'. There's nothin' I do can do to make this go away."

"Brenda, but— you can't let this go. You reported him, didn't you? To the Chief, to IA? There's no way he can assault you and just get away with it."

Brenda felt her own anger rise, not so much at Fritz, for asking such a useless question, but for her own impotence to take any action against Will. "No Fritz, I'm not reportin' him. To anybody. I can't." She chewed her lower lip and stared out the window behind Fritz's head.

"And that was that," Fritz repeated. "Over and done with, Brenda, just like that? Pope gets to keep his little kingdom and you just move on with life? Unbelievable." He stood up again and turned his back to her, staring out the window into the dusk. "Tell me Brenda," fury in each word, "why such a strong woman like you allows men to treat you like crap and then let's them get away with it."

Brenda froze, stunned. She wish she could un-hear what she just heard. Fritz, the one person she had trusted enough to reveal the wounds of her past, just threw them back in her face. She closed her eyes, feeling sick again.

Three years ago, shortly after they had started dating, Fritz bravely asked her who had hurt her so badly to make her guarded and reluctant to let anyone in. She amazed enough to find herself comfortable enough in Fritz's presence to tell him things she had never told anyone. With the help of a lot of Merlot, she told him about Hart, her ex-husband, who forced himself on her and did everything he could to ruin her career because she wasn't the wife he wanted her to be. And she talked about Peter, the post-divorce rebound boyfriend who badly beat her up one night in a fit of jealousy. Fritz had told her he had been honored she opened up to him, and now…he was using her past to punish her. She felt her entire body grow stiff, as if she had been turned to stone.

Fritz turned around, probably sensing Brenda's rage, and looked at her hard, mask-like face. He started to speak: "Brenda, I'm sorry, I didn't--." She cut him off.

"You're right, Fritz," she said, her voice cold, as she stood up and reached for her purse. "I do let men abuse me. I guess tonight was just your turn."

Without looking at him again, she walked quickly toward the door, slamming it on the way out like an exclamation point.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Flashbacks are in italics.**

**Chapter 6 **

_**13 years ago**_

_Brenda was woken up by a cool breeze coming from her open window. She rolled over in bed, pulling the down comforter around her, sensing something wasn't right, but was too tightly tethered to sleep to realize what was amiss. After a moment or two, the sensation of bare skin against cotton began to bleed though her mental fog, and she realized she was naked. _

_Brenda never slept without pajamas on, especially as the coolness of fall was beating back the omnipresent humidity of DC, and autumn made its arrival known the most at night time. She should be wearing one of the numerous pairs of flannel pajamas her mother gave her every Christmas rather than shivering in her bed. The only time she slept in the nude was… after she had had sex. Now everything was starting to fall into place. The looseness in her limbs, the soft gentle thrumming in her belly, the faint smell of sweat on the sheets all indicated that she hadn't started out the evening alone in bed. _

_But who was it this time? There had been several lately. After her decision to abandon any pretense of pursuing a relationship and to just focus on sex, eligible men where everywhere. As she no longer had to screen men initially for their true intentions and, later on, marriagability, the choices were endless. Good looking men populated the Metro, the grocery store, her favorite bar, her friends' parties. And all it seemed to take was a smile, and they were hers for the night. If some tried to push her into a second meeting, she would sweetly ask them for their phone number, explaining she worked for the CIA and was out of town often, but would give them a call. She never did. She had brought few back to her apartment, and luckily she had never come home to find one of them waiting on her doorstep, demanding why she never called them again. Brenda wasn't surprised by this, though: without actually saying it, these men, who were so eager to please her body, were not interested in any other part of her. It was a unspoken, mutual agreement. Great sex and goodbye. She usually forgot their names by the next day._

_Who had it been tonight? She scanned her sluggish mind for a face as she debated whether or not she had the energy to get up and shut the window. Brenda retraced her day to remember when she had met tonight's conquest. She had gotten up early and went to work, then found out about a potential terrorist living in DC which forced her to put other projects aside, and then…_

_She sat bolt upright in bed, wide awake now. Oh, no. She forgot the chill and covered her face in her hands as the events of the evening came flooding back to her. She hadn't met this paramour in a coffee shop or out on the street. And she certainly wouldn't be forgetting his name any time soon. Beneath the odor of sweat coming from her sheets she detected the scent of a man's familiar cologne. Oh, Brenda, she thought to herself, what have you done?_

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_

_The day had started normally enough. She sat down at the desk in her small office with her usual latte and pastry and started reviewing a classified brief from yesterday. One phone call later, when an Intelligence Analyst called with the that a particular terrorist the CIA had been tracking for months might be in DC, everything sped up. She spent the rest of the day with an elite group of officers and the head of the DC Intelligence Agency Operations Center, Will Pope. She quickly briefed her colleagues, and a strategic plan was developed. The well-trained officers stealthily surrounded the man's hotel room, and were able to apprehend him without any difficulty. Brenda called her boss at the CIA, and several agents came over and retrieved the suspect, taking him away to who knows where. Brenda knew better not_ _to ask. She had been told, on many occasions, what her role was, and she was told only what she needed to know. Her boss didn't even want her to interrogate the suspect, which irritated her. Apparently, although she was known as one of the best interrogators in the Company, there was someone more suitable for this suspect. She bristled at the idea._

_The flurry of activity died down around 6pm, and Brenda and Will were stuck in his office completing a stack of paperwork documenting every aspect of the case. Will ordered in Chinese food for the both of them, and Brenda was grateful. She never did get to finish her muffin from this morning, and she felt like she was going to faint from hunger._

_Brenda liked Will Pope. A lot of people at the DCPD thought he was arrogant, but she understood the posturing one needed to be respected when in charge. As a woman, it was 100 times harder for her to earn respect, and her insistence on doing so resulted in her reputation as being a ball-buster. She admired Will, the way he could command a room by just walking into it, and how he knew when he needed to raise his voice and when a reasonable tone would be more likely to get him what he wanted. The way he held himself and exuded authority reminded her of her father, who had the same air of strength about him she sensed in Will. She studied Will, just like she studied all men and women in power, taking cues from them that she wove into her own approach and demeanor. But Will was her favorite subject, and although she tried to hide her admiration from him, she suspected he was well aware of it. _

_After Brenda ate the last crab Rangoon, Will handed her the final stack of paperwork she needed to complete. After a few minutes of laboring in mutual silence, Brenda heard Will get up from his desk, but she was too engrossed in her work to look up. And then suddenly he was there, leaning over her, his lips next to her ear, hot puffs of steamy breath causing unexpected shivers down her spine. As Will leaned in to kiss her neck, he ran his fingers through her hair, and her scalp tingled in response. She was as stunned by Will's actions as she was by her body's reactions: she could barely whisper, "Will?" in what voice she could muster. _

_"Shhhhhhh," he said, as if quieting a fussy child. "Don't say anything, Brenda." She felt his mouth move to suckle her earlobe, and the warmth of his tongue made her unable to suppress a small moan. Will's hand's moved slowly down her arms and he interlaced his fingers with hers as he continued to kiss and suckle her ear and neck. "Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to touch you like that?" he said softly, as she felt her entire body flush._

_I have to stop this, she thought to herself, he's married and he's my boss. But before she could say anything, Will had pulled her to her feet and took her face in his hands. His hands were cool on her warm cheeks, and he bent down and kissed her, soft at first and then hard, his lips expertly separating hers so his tongue could explore her mouth. Without volition or thought, Brenda pushed her body closer to Will's, and with a flood of arousal, let loose an attraction she didn't even know she harbored. Brenda ran her arms over his chest and upper arms, and felt painfully reluctant when he pulled away from her to breathe. They both stood there, their lips a hair's breath away from each other, panting. Will pressed his lips to Brenda's temple and whispered, "I've been dreaming of kissing you, Brenda, for the longest time." _

_Brenda couldn't look at him. She was at a loss for words, and all this had happened so fast. She had no control over the situation whatsoever, a position she hated being in with men. She closed her eyes and lightly rested her forehead against his chest. When the power of speech returned to her, she said the first thing that came into her mind: "Will, you're married."_

_She felt him nod. "I know, I know. But that hasn't stopped me from developing feelings for you. I wish it has, but it hasn't. You are the most breathtaking woman I have ever been around, and I can't stop thinking about you." He moved Brenda's head in preparation to kiss her again, but she pulled away._

_"Will, what's goin' on here, for heaven's sake? We can't do this, you know that. For like a billion reasons." At that moment Brenda couldn't think of all those reasons, but she knew they existed. All she knew was she ached for this man who held her, someone she had never registered attraction to until a few minutes before. _

_Will slowly nodded his head, as if in defeat. " You're right, of course. I, I just can't help it. It's torture to work so close to you and never get to touch you. I couldn't stand it anymore. I had to kiss you. I had to feel you. God Brenda, do you have any idea how beautiful you are? How much I want you? If you did, you would see that the rules pale in comparison." His look was intense, proprietary. Normally when a man looked at her like that, she turned tail and ran. But now, she felt so wanted, body and soul. And she found herself being drawn in even closer to Will._

_"What about your wife, Will? What about her?" Brenda had met Ann once. She was a bland-looking, pleasant woman with a round face and a kind smile. Brenda didn't like the idea of hurting a woman who had never done anything to hurt her. _

_Will shook his head. "My wife in name only. It's been over for a long time now, and I'm just figuring out how to get out of it to minimize the damage. We haven't even shared the same bed in over a year. And wearing a wedding band hasn't stopped me from falling for you. You won't be breaking up a marriage to get involved with me, Brenda. You can't break something that's already broken." He nuzzled her neck with his nose, his tongue darting out to taste her again. She gasped. _

_"You do this with other women too? Come on to them, seduce them? I can't be the only one, Will. I won't flatter myself." She finally looked Will straight in the eyes. He was staring at her intently and slowly shook his head._

_"You are the first woman in a long time with the brains and personality to attract my interest, Brenda, believe me. I have never met a woman like you before." Brenda let the air out of lungs, unaware she was holding her breath. He had given her the answer she didn't even know she wanted. _

_"Will, I'm not sure this is a good idea," her voice slightly shaking from the power of her own arousal and the speed in these change of events. Her protestations were getting weaker, even to her own ears. "I don't sleep with married men. Or men I work with."_

_"Please tell me Brenda, I'm not just 'any man.' Please tell me I'm worth breaking some rules for. I need to know this isn't just one-sided." His steely gaze didn't waiver from her face._

_You aren't she thought to herself, but felt herself stumbling for words. Will took her silence as assent. As he lowered his lips back to hers, he whispered, "I want you so badly." _

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_

_Brenda finally braved the cold and got up to shut the window, blocking out the noise from the Georgetown streets as she did so. She reached into her drawer and pulled out a pair of flannel pajamas decorated with small Scottie dogs and quickly put them on, then jumped back into bed before her warm spot grew cold again. She rolled on her side and hugged her knees to her chest in fetal position, images from the evening going through her mind: the quick drive to her apartment, clothing strewn all over on the way to the bedroom, the feel of Will's body pressing into hers. Whereas she was usually glad when a man left her apartment, tonight she didn't want to let Will go, but of course he had to go home to his wife. __His wife__. What in the world am I doing, she thought to herself._

_She unfurled her sated body and stretched. The sex had been phenomenal, the best she had had in a very long time. She had heard power and sex went hand in hand, and Will was certainly a powerful man, so it makes sense he would be an incredible lover. And that's all she wanted right now, all she needed, was a physical relationship, not a emotional one. So it shouldn't matter that he was married. In fact, she reasoned, it was safer. He couldn't demand a commitment if he was already committed, which means he couldn't demand something she wasn't willing to give. She sighed, feeling her eyelids grow heavy as sleep beckoned once more. This might just work out, she thought, as she started to drift off. A married man might have been exactly what she needed all along. _

_After all, she told herself, it's not like I'm stupid enough to fall in love with him. _

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_

Brenda woke up suddenly, immediately aware that she was sleeping somewhere she shouldn't. Her face lay against something rough and hard, and her body felt stiff and damp. The air she breathed in as she tried to come to consciousness had the tang of salt in it, nothing like the night air in her bedroom that carried the faint sent of her lavender hand cream and Fritz's cologne. She sat upright and opened her eyes slowly, a little afraid to discover where she was.

The ocean stretched out to the horizon beyond the cliff she was on, and the beach beneath her was almost swallowed up by the demanding and impatient waves. The moon was waning, and Brenda could see its reflection on the restless water as it shimmered and flickered on the ocean's surface. Brenda knew this spot; she knew it well. She had fallen asleep at an overlook onto the Pacific, a spot she passed every day as she drove to and from Parker center. It has become her place of peace over the past few years. During difficult times, she would stop the car on the way to work and watch how the rising sun played with the waves as she slowed her breath to match the incoming tide. Being near the ocean had always instilled a sense of calm in her, and this hidden place had helped her time and again. Late nights when she knew she should be in the car driving home to Fritz, Brenda would turn off her phone and stand on the edge of the 15 foot cliffs and watch the swirling white waters of turbulence over rock and breathe in the thick, briny air. It made her feel reborn, alive, and when Fritz asked her why she took so long to get home, she never told him the truth. He didn't know about this place, and she wanted to keep it that way. It was a small, harmless secret she squirreled away in her heart, a reminder that even though she was about to be married, she still had her own life, her own small pockets of the world where even Fritz wasn't welcome.

When she left the duplex after their fight, she hadn't intended to come here. At first, she had no intentions whatsoever. She drove her car like a robot, too numb from Fritz's comment to her, _"Tell me, Brenda, why such a strong woman like you allows men to treat you like crap and then let's them get away with it."_ She felt like she had been slapped so hard and so often she could no longer feel the blows. Tears streamed down her face, but she didn't have the energy or motivation to wipe them away. So she just drove, down any street that appeared before her. It didn't matter where she was going, it only mattered that she got as far away from Fritz as possible.

After an indeterminable time, she thawed enough to realize she was in a bad part of town, and she needed a plan. Going home and facing Fritz was out of the question. She wouldn't—_couldn't_—look him in the eyes so soon after he used her past as a dangerous weapon to wound her. She never thought he was possible of doing such a cruel thing. But what frightened her even more was that she knew, as any good interrogator does, that the clarity of truth is often spilled when emotions are high and anger has lowered personal guards. Which left Brenda wondering, is this what Fritz really thinks of me? For four years, she believed he loved and admired her. But now, she doubted all of that. Maybe all this time she was fooled into believing he respected her, when all he really saw was a woman who allowed herself to be used by men. A doormat. Something cheap and disposable. She felt barbs pull at her heart every time the thought came to her mind.

Going back to Fritz was unthinkable, so Brenda decided instead to go to her other home: Parker Center. After all, she usually worked late nights when on a new case, and she didn't feel comfortable leaving the squad unsupervised. She would merely explain to Gabriel, in a voice that told him no questions would be welcomed, that she took care of what she needed to do and decided to come in and work on the investigation. A little eye makeup, some fresh lipstick, and a smile on her face would hide her misery. She was an expert at that, and doubted the squad would think anything was wrong.

She was on her way to Parker Center when she remembered her secret place. Without thinking, she pulled over and parked. It was warm, but she brought an old blanket from her trunk just in case the ocean breeze carried a chill. She stood at first, crying yet again, and stared, almost mesmerized, at the waves. She imagined the wind carrying her tears away and dropping them into the ocean, saltwater into saltwater. Maybe the ocean was made up of tears from millions of people over time, borne out of millennia of heartache. Mine are just a small contribution, she thought darkly, and then shook her head at the maudlin thought, as she was not one to embrace such poetics. She spread out the old blanket, laid down, and stared up at the night sky. The bright moon interfered with stargazing, but Brenda could still make out some of the constellations that her father had taught her: Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Cassiopeia. She was passively scanning the night sky for Orion's Belt when her eyes drifted shut and she was lulled to sleep by the cadence of waves pounding rocks, then retreating only to return again, as soothing as a mother's heartbeat is to an unborn child.

Brenda wiped a fine coating of sand off her cheek looked at her watch: it was 4am. She glanced at her cell, which she had silenced once the calls from Fritz started. 15 from him in total, and she had ignored them all. She didn't care if he was worried or not. She didn't care about much of anything at the moment. In an hour or so, she planned to drive to work and sneak in the back door of her office without turning on the lights and grabbing the change of clothes she kept in her office. She would then go to the lady's locker room, shower, change, brush her teeth, and then pretend she had arrived to the murder room early from home. No one would be the wiser. Then she could sink herself into the case, and there wouldn't be any room to think, or to feel, about her fight with Fritz. Thank god for work, she sighed. If she didn't have an all encompassing job that she could bury herself in, blocking out everything else in her life, she probably would have gone insane years ago.

Brenda was still sitting on her blanket on the cliffs when she heard a car pull off the road near her. Shit, she thought, it's a cop. The police patrolled the area beaches at night in order to chase away the homeless and teenagers who came to drink or make out. A woman sitting alone in the middle of the night would have some explaining to do to a patrolman. She could either try and convince him or her that she wasn't homeless, although she was disheveled enough to play the part, or she could flash her badge and reveal who she really was, and risk odd looks and possible gossip. She actually preferred the former. She heard a door slam and footsteps coming toward her, and she hastily tried to straighten her sweater and brush back her wind-whipped curly hair. She had just reached the conclusion that her hair was a lost cause when she heard a familiar voice: "Brenda? Is that you?"

Fritz. How did he know where to find her? As if his behavior tonight hadn't been bad enough, now he had to ruin her private place. She felt a resurgence of anger.

"Go away Fritz. I mean it." She sounded like a petulant child, but she didn't care. She didn't want to see him.

"Brenda," he stopped right behind her, a little out a breath. "I was so worried. You didn't answer your phone and I had no idea where you had gone. Thank god you are okay." She could hear him squatting down next to her, but she pulled her knees up to her chest and made herself into a tight ball.

"I wish you didn't find me, because I didn't want to be found. What did you do, send bloodhounds after me or somethin?'"

"No," Fritz said. "I was thinking where you might go, if you decided not to come home, and I remembered you had a big case today. So I thought maybe you went into work. You weren't answering your office phone either, so went looking for you at Parker Center. I recognized your car sitting at the side of the road by the 'Georgetown Alumni' sticker on the back. So I stopped, and I am so glad I did."

"Well give bonus points to the Special Agent here for his amazin' investigative skills," Brenda said sarcastically.

Fritz sighed and sat down next to her. She moved away from him and wrapped herself up even tighter. "I don't remember givin' you an invitation to join me." She stared straight ahead at the ocean.

"Brenda, I know you are very angry at me, and I don't blame you. But I have been half crazy with worry for the past several hours, and now that I've found you, and you are okay, I want to talk. I want to say how sorry I am."

Brenda said nothing.

His voice was soft. "What I said to you, about being a women who lets men hurt you, was terrible. And wrong. And I would do anything in the world to unsay it, because you are right, I became one of those men tonight, and I never, never wanted to treat you like that. Please believe me."

"So if I accept your apology, then I've let you off scot free and I'm just a doormat, isn't that right?" She tried to sound cold and hard, but her voice caught at the end.

Out the corner of her eye, she saw Fritz reflexively reach out to her, then pull his hand back. "Brenda, no, no, please listen to me. I didn't mean what I said. I was angry and I lashed out at you. And I know what I said was awful, probably one of the meanest things I could say."

"So why did you say it? Was that fun for you, Fritz, gettin' back at me, hurtin' me for not tellin' you about Will? Was that your way of punishin' me?"

She could hear Fritz shaking his head vigorously. "I know that's what it would seem like, and I wish I could take it back. I was pissed, but I didn't want to punish you. But I know that this must be how it feels like. Brenda, look at me, please." His request was met with a cold silence. He sighed again. "I wish you would look at me, honey, so you can see I mean what I say. I know you, Brenda, and I know that I have probably made you question what I think about you, to say such a horrible thing. And that breaks my heart, to make you question my love and respect for you. You know how much I admire you, Brenda, how proud I am of the woman you are. Don't let one terrible thing I said in a moment of anger take away a certainty in our relationship, please. I have never treated you badly, I've never acted like I'm threatened by your success, or like I expect you to follow some template of what it means to be a woman be a women. After all, who is the one who does all the cooking and cleaning?" he laughed dryly. Brenda remained quiet, seeing no humor in his words.

Fritz continued. "What I want you to know, even if you spend the next day, or week, furious at me, is that I understand I took something very precious and tarnished it. I remember the night you opened up to me about your past relationships with men and how hard it was for you to do that. I felt sick listening to it, and I can't imagine what it was like for you to have gone through that type of pain. And I swore to myself that I would do everything in my power to treat you differently, to convince you that you are the most amazing woman in the world and should be treated at such. At times when you were being impossible and I was getting impatient or angry, I would think back on how much courage it took you to tell me what you had been through, and I would be reminded what I promised that night, to always treat you like you deserved to be treated."

"Like I deserve to be treated?" she said incredulously. "Like havin' my most private and painful memories wadded up and thrown in my face? Is that how I'm supposed to be treated? Because that sure as hell doesn't feel a whole lot better than havin' the crap beat out of me on a deserted country road." Her stomach clenched at the memory, and she covered her face in her hands. Her eyes were sore, tired and gritty from crying, and she felt like she had aged 10 years in the past week.

She heard Fritz gasp at the harshness of her words. She sensed that he wanted desperately to reach out to her again, to hold her and convince her he was sorry and would do everything to make it better, and she felt the tenseness in his body as he held himself back. But his voice was clear and steady when he spoke again. "I'm so sorry you feel like that, Brenda, so sorry. Please know I never want to hurt you. It's just that, well, Will makes me crazy. I know I get irrational about him, and its more than jealousy, it really is. I hate him for what he's done to you, what he keeps doing to you. And I get so angry that I say stupid things."

"Yea, you are a complete jerk when it comes to Will," Brenda said. "And I am getting pretty damn sick bein' caught in between each of y'all's jealousy, cuz I'm the one who always ends up gettin' hurt." She felt fresh tears sting her exhausted eyes and fought to keep them at bay.

"I know Brenda. That's why I went to go to see Will tonight."

For the second time in a week, she questioned her hearing. She finally turned to look him in the face. You did WHAT?"

Fritz looked both scared and relieved that she was finally facing him, but he met her glare. "I went to his house tonight, Brenda. A couple of hours after you left."

Brenda just stared at him, her mouth hanging open slightly. She couldn't think what to say. There is no way, Fritz couldn't have, he didn't…fragments of thoughts kept bumping into each other in her head, but none could come out as full sentences.

"He's not dead, if that's what you're thinking, and I didn't beat him up. As tempted as I was, believe me. I don't know what made me go over there, I was just so damn angry about him coming on to you, and I couldn't pace the floor waiting for you to come home any longer. I felt like I had to do something or I would jump out of my skin."

She got up suddenly and walked to the edge of the cliffs, wishing she could dive into the inviting water and swim away from this ever-evolving mess. She heard Fritz stand up behind her and turned to look at him.

"I do not need you," she said, her voice low with fury, "to go off and be my white night. Do you understand me? I don't need you or any other man to protect my honor, I can take care of myself. How dare you go interferin' with my life like that, Fritz. You want to play the part of the jealous boyfriend, well you go right ahead, you have certainly been doin' a good job of it for quite a long time. But you had no right to confront Will. I am not your property. This was my business, and right now I'm wonderin' if I will even have a job tomorrow because of you." Her voice was getting higher, and she felt herself starting to lose control.

"You have a job, I promise you, Brenda. And I know you can stand up for yourself just fine. I am rather impressed with the damage you did when you punched him."

"But you still felt like you had to go over there and protect your what was rightfully yours, didn't you?" she shouted. "Make sure Will knew damn well who I belonged to now. Let me tell you somethin, Fritz Howard, I don't belong to anyone. I can walk out of this relationship and take care of myself just fine. Remember that the next time you want to treat me like an object to be bartered over." She was breathing heavily now, not caring that what little control she had was slipping away. She was livid.

"Brenda, I don't treat you like you're my possession."

"Oh really?" She stepped a few feet closer to him. "Remember when Estelle Pope burst into my murder room and said all those terrible things about me and Will? When I came home that night, you had found out about it—how, I have no idea—and you were you mad at? Me, of course. And you remember what you did? You took me by the shoulders and told me you loved me. Not in a nice, romantic way, but like you were brandin' me as yours. I didn't answer back because I knew exactly what you were doin'. You didn't tell me you loved me that night because you wanted to. You told me you loved me that night as a way of gettin' the same words out of me, so you could tell yourself I was yours, and not Will's. That was all about bullshit male insecurity, Fritz, and nothin' else. You were no better than some dog, markin' his territory."

Fritz was quite for a moment. "Why am I just hearing this now, Brenda?"

"Because I made the decision to tell you I loved you back, to make you happy and secure. Which it didn't, didn't it?" She was surprised at the bitterness in her own voice. "I never told you that Will and I had a big talk over dinner a few weeks before that, and I told him, very clearly, that our relationship was to remain strictly professional. You blamed me for Estelle's' accusations, but I had already made it perfectly clear to Will that I was with you and I didn't want us to ever be anythin' but friends."

"Brenda, why didn't you tell me that? I didn't know."

"You never gave me the chance!" she yelled. "You went stormin' out the door, and I was up all night worryin' about you, and I just decided to leave you a note and hope things would be better the next day. I decided to protect your delicate male ego, Fritz, and let you think you got your way, I was marked, I belonged to you."

More silence from Fritz. She focused on the sound of the waves crashing against the rocky beach and tried to imagine herself walking along the shore, feeling the waves lick her ankles and retreat, over and over, as her feet made ephemeral prints in the sand. Fritz spoke and dragged her out of her fantasy.

"You are right, Brenda."

"Right about what, exactly?" she said.

"About that night. I was so angry and jealous when I heard what had happened, and I took it out on you. And that was unfair of me. I guess I didn't realize it until right now, but I did tell you I loved you that night because I wanted to hear you say it back to me. I needed to know you loved me, Brenda, and when you didn't say anything, I kind of lost it. I was just so sure that Will was going to try and do everything he could to get you back, and I needed to know you would choose me over him. It was all about my insecurities that night. I didn't realize until now how unfair that was to you." He ran a hand through his thick hair and stepped closer to her. She instinctively backed away. "I guess I'm starting to understand why you don't tell me things, if you know it's going to bring out the worst in me, and I take my frustration out on you." He looked away, out into the darkness.

"Speakin' of your male ego, Fritz, you gonna tell me what happened when you went to Pope's tonight? Or am I jus gonna have to wait and read it in the morning papers?" As much as she didn't want to know what Fritz had done, she had to find out the damage so she could anticipate the fallout.

Fritz hesitated, then started talking quickly. "Well, I got his address from the FBI data base, and I drove over there around 11 or so. I sat out in front of his house for awhile, trying to calm down, but it didn't work. Will answered the door, and I, um, shoved him out of the way and walked into the living room. He didn't look too happy to see me." Fritz paused, looking over at Brenda. She fought to keep her expression as neutral as possible.

"So I'm standing there, in his living room, and the place looked like a tornado hit. There were kids' toys everywhere, books all over the floor. It looks like it hadn't been straightened up for weeks. And I looked at Will, and he looked as tired and messy has his house did. I'm used to the Pope and his perfectly pressed suits and his fiefdom, so I was surprised to see him look so disheveled. And then I heard his kids running around upstairs, and I realized he was trying to get them into bed, and not very successfully." Fritz paused again, and when Brenda answered with silence, he continued.

"Before I could say anything, he apologized, saying he was drunk, it was wrong, whatever. I yelled that that was total bullshit, he's been after you for years and I was sick of it, what a rat he was for trying to break us up. I was really getting going yelling at him when his little girl came down the steps. I had scared her by my yelling, and she asked Will who this mean man was and if I was going to hurt him. I felt terrible. I shouldn't have lost control like that with his kids in the house. Will told her everything was okay, we were just talking about work, and he asked her to go up and pick out a bedtime story and tell her brother to do the same. And then all of a sudden, I saw Pope for who he really was."

"And what's that, Fritz?" Brenda asked.

"A broken man. Someone to be pitied, not someone to be jealous of. He has screwed up his life over and over by his piss poor choices. He lost you, he lost his first wife, then his second, and from what I can tell, he wasn't doing such a great job with the single dad thing. And I told him all of this, in a quieter voice this time, that he was just pathetic, that's all he was. And his declaring his love and groping you just showed how desperate and sad he is. But I was still so angry, and I told him never to come near you again, he had hurt you enough and this had to end."

"What did he say to all of this?"

"Believe it or not, nothing. He just listened with his arms folded, and said he was sorry about a dozen times. I've never seen will that passive before." Fritz paused, and Brenda heard something unspoken in the way he cleared his throat. Her radar went off.

"What else, Fritz? What else aren't you tellin' me? I can tell by the way you're actin' that there's more."

Fritz took a step back from her, which Brenda saw as a very bad sign. "Please don't hate me for this, Brenda. I was so angry, and, well, when I saw his daughter, I thought about how much he didn't deserve to have that, to have children, and how unfair it was…" Brenda heard him choke up.

"How unfair what was?"

Fritz swallowed audibly. "How unfair it was that he had this adorable little girl and you and I are probably never going to have kids. Here he is, this cheating bastard, raising kids, where you and I aren't going to get the chance, and we would be so much better at it. It just made me really angry, the injustice of it. So when I was going on about how much he had hurt you, I, well—"

Brenda's heart stopped cold in her chest. "You didn't Fritz. You wouldn't."

He turned away from her, staring out at the ocean again. "I told him he had gotten you pregnant. I'm sorry, Brenda."

The air hung heavy between the two of them, and even the waves seemed to still. Brenda felt her body begin to shake uncontrollably, and before she knew what she was doing, she lunged at Fritz and shoved him roughly, her palms against his chest. "You son of a bitch!' she growled. "What the hell is wrong with you…" she shoved again, harder this time. Fritz was taken by surprise, and he stumbled backwards, his footing unsure on the sandy grass. She shoved him a third time and he was pressed against the safety railing overlooking the cliff. She wanted nothing more than to hurt him as much as she possibly could. How dare he, knowing damn well she had never wanted Pope to find out, never wanted _anyone_ to find out? For the second time that evening, secrets she had entrusted Fritz with were turned into weapons. What little control she had was gone, washed away in a hurricane of rage, and without knowing what she was doing, she slapped Fritz across the face, hard.

"Dammit!" he said, reacting now. "Brenda, calm down. I mean it. I know you're mad but you can't do this to me." He grabbed her wrists and held them tightly.

"Let me go, Fritz, now!" She struggled, not caring if she bruised or not. "You are ruinin' my life, do you know that? How dare you!" She was shrieking but she didn't care. "You had no right to tell him that, Fritz, no right. I hate you for that, I'll hate you forever." She continued to struggle.

"Brenda, listen to me! Listen! It was wrong, and I am so sorry. But I wanted to be honest and tell you what I've done. Please stop fighting me, it's not going to undo what I did, what I said. I wanted to hurt Will, and telling him about your abortion did the trick. He looked crushed, and I felt very proud of myself, like I had gotten some modicum of revenge for everything he had done to you, and then I realized what I had done, and how wrong it was, how I had violated your trust and that made me not much better than Will. I left and spent the last few hours looking for you." Brenda saw the tears in his eyes. "I know I have been awful to you tonight, honey, I know I have. I'll make it up to you, I swear. But please stop hitting me, it's not going to solve anything."

It never ends, she thought, it just never ends. Just when she thought she had suffered enough for whatever gods of Fate who wanted their pound of flesh, her great mistake came back and haunted her again. She just wanted it to stop, to keep the past far away and forget she ever loved Will Pope. But she wasn't allowed, no matter how hard she tried. She just wanted it all to end.

She stopped struggling, and Fritz let go of her wrists. Silently, she took a large step back from him and darted to his left, toward the area of the cliff not protected by the barrier he was pressed up against. Without thinking, she disappeared over the 15 foot cliff, barely noticing how white Fritz's face turned as he watched her vanish.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Brenda ran.

She took off her shoes and ran with all of her strength along the beach below the cliff she had left Fritz standing on.

Several months ago, Brenda spent an evening at Parker Center listening to young girls recount the stories of brutal rapes at the hands of a classmate. The looks on the girl's face broke her heart; the unphathomable sadness in their eyes haunted Brenda, and brought up a long-ago buried grief within her. On her way home at 5am the next morning, she stopped at the overlook to watch the sun rise. Brenda felt so broken that gazing out at the high tide coming in wasn't enough to even begin to soothe her wounds. She put on a pair of sneakers she kept in the car and slowly climbed down the cliff. Except for the last five feet or so, there were plenty of footholds for her to safely descend to the beach below. That silent morning she waded ankle deep in the sea where the water felt like a gentle caress, and after an hour of feeling the tide rise and the force of the waves break over her ankles and then her legs, some of her sadness was washed away.

The memory of that morning was what drove her to rapidly descend the cliff tonight, ignoring the fear in Fritz's frozen face. In her emotional state she missed a few key rocks in which to use as leverage, and she ended up falling the last several feel onto soft sand. If she got injured, she didn't notice. Her mind was so far away from her body at that moment that she couldn't think, only feel the rhythmic pounding of her bare feet on sand and the harsh gasping breaths brought on by her fitful running. Brenda was vaguely aware that Fritz was calling for her, but she didn't react. She didn't care. She wasn't running away or toward anything. She just wanted to run so hard and so far that she would sweat out the sickening mix of unwanted emotions within her; the hurt, the shock, and blind, red rage. She expected that she was oozing fury with each challenging step, with every ragged exhalation, and the sweat that poured down her face and her back was not sweat at all, but a bitter, bitter toxin.

After what seemed like a long time, she became dizzy, and the stars in the sky started to blur before her. Without consulting her, Brenda's body simply stopped, and the lactic acid washed over every muscle and rebuked her for her exertions. She couldn't breathe; she bent over and rested her hands on her knees and fought to get some oxygen into her lungs and her head so she wouldn't faint. She tried to slow her breathing by exhaling slowly through her nose instead of her mouth, and after awhile, the stars ceased to be a cosmic smear from her affected vision and returned to their rightful place in the sky.

Brenda was so fixated on trying to stave off fainting that she didn't hear Fritz until he was about 10 feet away. She turned to look at him, his shirt untucked and sweat running down his face, and he was fighting to catch his own breath. He stared back at her, but said nothing. She stood up slowly and turned away toward the ocean. The running had calmed her, had jerked her away from that dangerous cliff she stood on, when there were too many feelings in her, around her, grabbing at her hem like needy children. Brenda could handle one feeling at a time, and any more than that put her in an emotionally precarious state.

In this small space of emotional calm, Brenda felt pulled toward an old memory, a story from her childhood. It called to her from her past, its relevance making itself clear when she dusted off the recollection and examined it.

She was startled by the sound of her own voice. "When I was a young girl," she said in a flat tone, devoid of any feelings, "my best friend was a girl named Mary Elizabeth. Mary Liz's family was Catholic, and my mama would let me go to mass with her on Sundays if I slept over Saturday night. Mary Liz told me about confession and all, somethin' we Baptists didn't have. And the idea amazed me. Mary Liz said you went into that little booth, told the priest your sins, and got assigned penance, like it was a homework assignment or somethin'. And the penance wasn't really penance, if you ask me. You just had to recite a bunch of Our Fathers and I don't know what all, but then you got to go home, and the sin was just wiped away, like it never happened. I was fascinated by this, so much that Mrs. Fitzpatrick, Mary Liz's mother, had me meet with a priest one time, I think secretly hopin' I would be converted. I asked this guy like a billion questions about confession and absolution, how it all works, why a certain number of Hail Marys were just the remedy to get that pesty sin off your soul. And exactly how many do you have to do for something like murder? Was there a master chart somewhere? Well, I drove this guy crazy, and he told me that I was only eleven, and when I was grown up I would understand better. I never liked hearin' that from adults, that I was too young to understand. But the whole confession thing always fascinated me; maybe that's why I became an Interrogator, so I could hear all about people's sins and give them a lot more meaningful penance than a bunch of prayers. I personally can't think of a better way to atone for your sins than to spend years in prison thinkin' about what got you there."

She stopped for a moment and took a few deep breaths. Fritz stood still a few feet away, but made no move to speak. "When I think about Will, and all that has happened in my life because of my affair with him, I can't help but feel I have performed a heck of a lot of penance for that particular sin. I had to pick of the pieces of my life after he dumped me, I had to end an unwanted pregnancy alone, I had to leave DC and start all over again. I brought all the mistrust and hurt from Will into my marriage, which backfired terribly, and here I am in LA, and I'm still payin,' with Estelle Pope's temper tantrum lettin' everyone know I slept with Will. And your jealousy, and Pope's jealousy, never seem to end, no matter how may virtual Our Fathers I say." Her feelings returned, amplified for their respite, and she was blinded by them. She shouted over the roar of the ocean, "God, when am I gonna be forgiven for my sins? For Will Pope's sins?" She raised her arms over her head, and her voice rose even louder. "When is my penance done, God? When do I finally get absolution? When? I want my clean slate, I want a fresh start, I want…" she was suddenly too exhausted to speak.

Fritz lunged forward and grabbed her around the upper arms as she collapsed onto her knees at the water's edge. She felt the water soak into her linen pants, but she didn't care. Fritz's strong arms held her up, and she leaned into him without meaning to, feeling too weak to support her own body. She tilted her head back and looked at the night sky. "I'm kneelin," she yelled again at the great beyond, making Fritz jump. "I'm kneelin', isn't that what the contrite penitent do?" She closed her eyes. "I am so sorry, so sorry for everything I did to deserve this, so sorry for everything I've done wrong…please forgive me." Her voice stopped, as if she was being choked, and she could say no more. She waited for the tears to come, as they were freely flowing all night. But her eyes were dry and tight, feeling like they did when she had stayed up for days in a row. There were no more tears left. Her whole body shook. Fritz held her tight and gently rocked her, his mouth buried in her hair whispering comforting words Brenda couldn't make out. She wanted to push him away and continue running, but she didn't have the strength.

"How could you, Fritz," she moaned, as if in physical pain. "How could you tell Will? Why would you do that to me? Why? I trust you. I never trust anyone but I trust you." She spoke barely above a whisper.

Fritz pulled his mouth away from her head and brought his lips down to her ears. "Honey, I can only say I'm sorry so many times, because after awhile it just starts to sound insincere. You can't know how sorry I am for the things I've said tonight." He paused and rested his chin on top of her head, gently rocking her. "Like I said before, I told Pope about getting you pregnant to hurt him, and I realized pretty quickly what kind of person that made me, to violate your privacy for my own petty gain. Will Pope really brings out the worst in me, and I saw how ugly I get around him, how low I will stoop to make it clear that you are better off with me. I am more than a little disgusted with myself, especially because I hurt you in the process of hurting Will. He paused, rocking Brenda in silence for a few minutes. "I used to do things like that when I drank," he said, his words seeped in regret. "Mean things, petty things. I was immensely self-centered and didn't care about anyone but myself. I worked on that a lot in rehab, and in therapy and AA afterwards. I thought I had changed, that I'm a better man than that now. I'm more than a little disgusted with myself. I don't want to be that person ever again, and I especially don't ever want to be that person around you." He sighed.

"But I have to remind you, Brenda, you never trusted me with your secret. You never told me about your abortion. Be honest, if I hadn't found out by accident, at your appointment with Dr. Daily, would you ever have told me?"

"No," Brenda answered quickly. "It wasn't any of your business. You said so yourself, in the car afterwards, remember? Or were you just bein' nice?"

"I think I was just being nice."

Brenda tried to pull away, but Fritz's strong arms held her against him, and she relented. "I suppose you want me to respect you for your honesty," she said sarcastically.

"No, I'm not anticipating much respect from you for awhile," he said, his voice soft. "It's just that I wish you didn't keep secrets from me. I wish that you felt close enough to me to tell me these things, knowing I would never judge you, that I will love you no matter what."

"I did trust you with my secrets, Fritz. I told you about my past relationship with men. And tonight you just threw it back in my face."

"Yes, another sign that I can't blame my personality flaws on drinking," he answered quietly. "I am going to have a hard time forgiving myself for how mean and selfish I have been tonight. I get a little tired of working on all my issues. But such is one's life in recovery." He kissed her head. "I promise you, Brenda, I didn't mean to throw anything in your face. Ever. I lashed out, like a jerk. I promise I'll earn your trust back, I swear. More than anything I want to be your constant, your safe haven. I'll do anything to be that to you, Brenda. Believe me."

Surprising herself, she realized she did believe him. She had entered that No Man's Land of her temper where she wasn't furious any more but was unready to forgive. Emotional purgatory, she thought to herself. They kneeled in silence for several minutes, both lost in their own personal miseries, their private worlds of pain and regret.

Fritz spoke and brought Brenda back before she could be swallowed by desolation. "I didn't get a chance to tell you everywhere I've been tonight, looking for you."

"I'm afraid to ask."

Fritz shifted his weight. "Like I said before, I thought maybe you went to Parker Center to work on your case, so I went there looking for you."

Brenda shook her head. "No you didn't. You told me you never made it to Parker Center, that you saw my car and pulled over on your way there."

"Actually, I was on my way _back_ from there when I saw your car. I was heading home to see if you showed up yet."

Brenda looked at him. "So you are tellin' me you went to my work and let my squad know we had a big fight and I was missin'?" Her voice rose. "On top of everything else, you embarrassed me by sharin' our private life with my people? How much damage did you do to my life tonight, Fritz?"

He reached out and gently laid his hand over her mouth. "Brenda, honey, just let me talk for a second, will you? Let me tell you the story. I assure you that I didn't do anything terrible, I promise. But will you just let me talk?" He kept his had over her mouth until she nodded, and then he slowly removed it.

"I went to your murder room," he said. "I stopped at the entrance and looked around. Your office was dark, so I knew right away you weren't there. But your squad was, and they were talking about you. So I hung out and eavesdropped."

"What'd they say," Brenda asked, curiosity overtaking anger.

Well, Flynn, Provenza, and Gabriel were gathered around Tao's desk, looking at what I think were crime scene photos. Their backs were to me, so they didn't know I was there. Gabriel said how amazing it was that you left them alone to work on this case, that you are usually such a micromanager and wouldn't consider letting them work on a fresh case without looking over their shoulders. And then Provenza did an imitation of you giving everyone orders in a really terrible Southern accent."

Brenda rolled her eyes. "Oh lord."

"But then Tao said something that really struck me. He said this was a great opportunity to show you how effective they can be as a squad. Flynn piped in and said the brass had put you through hell over the past few years, and Gabriel said that Flynn had done his fair share of torturing you too. Flynn gave him a dirty look and said it would be nice to pay you back a little bit by showing how much they have learned from you, and even with all the stuff you've been through you formed a great squad." Fritz paused for a breath. "Brenda, they were talking about how much they wanted to impress you, although they didn't come out and say it. The way they spoke about you was with such respect, and believe me, I never thought I'd hear Andy Flynn talk about anyone with respect. I just remember your first year here, where your squad treated you like crap, and every day getting up and going to work was like going into battle. You rarely ever complained, but I could see how stressful it was on you. And now, three years later, you have these hard-assed cops doing whatever they can to prove their worth to you. You have come so far with PHD, and it was like swimming upstream. But you earned their trust and respect because you persevered, you didn't let them, or Taylor, or anyone else get the best of you. You showed what an amazing detective you are, and what a loyal boss you can be. Standing there, listening to them talking, made me realize something."

"Which was?"

"I was angry at you tonight for not reporting Pope to Internal Affairs. That he physically assaulted you and was going to get away with it. But listening to your people, I remembered what you told me about why you didn't press charges against your boyfriend Peter after he beat you up. You said that jerks at the Atlanta PD would turn that into a joke, and would use it against you, that's just the way the old boy's club worked. And it occurred to me that the LAPD wouldn't be any different, and you knew that. If you reported Will, he would get all the support from the higher ups, and you would be accused of all types of things, especially when a lot of people know, thanks to Estelle Pope, that you two had an affair. You already went though a witch hunt like that in Atlanta, and I figured out you probably didn't want to go through that again. Especially now that all your hard work and patience has paid off, and you have a squad that would do anything for you, and Priority Homicide has earned a lot of respect. You didn't want to risk losing all that, did you, Brenda? Am I right?"

"Of course you're right, Fritz," she snapped. "Do you think I like the idea of Pope gettin' away with this crap? When have I ever let someone guilty of somethin' getting away with anythin'? But yea, glad you figured it out, reportin' him would completely backfire and come back to hurt me, I know it would. And it makes my stomach burn every time I think about Will gettin' away with accostin' me, but my hands are tied. It's just so great to be a woman in law enforcement." She heard the resentment in her own voice.

"But he didn't get away with it, Brenda," Fritz said. "I think Pope is finally going to do some penance for what he did."

She turned to look at him, frowning. "Fritz, what are you talkin' about? Like you said earlier, he still has his fiefdom."

"Yes, he does, but he lost other things. Things that might be more important to him."

"What are you talking about?"

"Besides the obvious retribution, a seriously busted lip—oh, and I do want to complement you on a very impressive punch, I think that strength training is really paying off—he is suffering in other ways for what he's done. He completely lost your friendship and any respect you may have had for him. And since he clearly still cares for you, any relationship you have with him at all, even just a friendship, is probably very important to him. It's connection. And now that's gone. What's also gone is the delusion he has that the two of you will get back together some day. He told me tonight he realized as soon as you came to LA he had made a terrible mistake breaking up with you, and he regrets it every day that he didn't marry you."

Brenda looked up at Fritz in surprise. "He actually told you that?"

"Yea, like I said, he was pretty pathetic when I went over there tonight. So that hope has been taken away from him, from your reaction to his advances, and when you take that away from the mighty Pope, he is a sad man. He is divorced twice, which shows you how good he is at relationships, and he's pining away for someone he can't have. His life is a collection of bad choices, nothing else. Oh, and he lost something else very powerful."

"What's that?"

"My jealousy. I realized tonight how my insecurities about you and Pope has only fueled his ego. He got off on doing things he knew would make me jealous, and I'm sure I have only heard a fraction of the stuff he's done." He paused and looked at Brenda, who nodded almost imperceptibly. "But putting you in the middle like that, doing things you wouldn't tell me because you knew I would get upset, gave him a great deal of power over both of us. And that's done, because I realized tonight I have nothing to be jealous over." He reached out and gently touched Brenda's cheek. "I know you love me, Brenda," he said softly, "and you wouldn't hurt me intentionally. Pope told me you made that very clear to him. Doubting that love, and worrying that Will was going to steal you away, that's all about my insecurities, and nothing about you. But I made it about you, and that breaks my heart. I am supposed to be your safe place to land, not your adversary."

"But you are still jealous, Fritz, you said so tonight. You said you were jealous of his kids, and jealous because he got me pregnant."

Fritz shifted off of his knees and sat down on the damp sand, and pulled Brenda's back against his chest between the vee of his legs. He propped himself up with his arms as Brenda leaned against him again. "I think this has to go in the 'petty' category. Or the 'male ego' one. Or let's just call it the workings of my petty male ego."

"Lets."

"It's less about having kids than about my manliness, really. I think men throughout history have proven their virility through procreating. And I know that's very caveman of me, and I apologize for my sex as a whole. And I say this with tremendous embarrassment, please know: it makes me feel less of a man than Will because he got you pregnant and I can't. Even though it's about our age, your PCO, real-life, practical issues, and I know that, it still brings out the primitive male in me."

Brenda snorted loudly, not even trying to hide her distain.

"I know, I know, its stupid, and you probably thought I was a little more evolved than that. I try not to let my knuckles drag on the ground too much."

"Actually, stories of men's immaturity never surprise me," she answered. She regretted the words as soon as they fell out of her mouth. "Sorry, Fritz, I shouldn't have said that. That's just me bein' petty, too."

He pulled her closer. "That's okay, honey, I deserved that."

She rested in his strong arms for awhile, fighting off her bone-deep fatigue. The sound of his voice startled her back into wakefulness.

"Tell me, something, Brenda."

"What?" she said warily.

"Anything," Fritz said. "Anything I don't know about you. It doesn't have to be something terrible, just tell me something…_personal_. I think there is so much inside of you don't know about, and I want to know you, Brenda. All of you. And I want you to be able to tell me anything. So please, just tell me something you have never told me before."

Brenda looked at him, her brow wrinkled in confusion. After chewing her lip for a moment, she spoke.

"Well, since I'm all about confessin' my deep darks tonight…I did recognize Will still had feelin's for me just a couple of months after I got to LA," she said. "And I realized what a huge mistake I had made, comin' back to work for him. So I decided to leave. My squad hated me and did everything they could to undermine my authority. Taylor was a constant pain in my you-know-what. It just made sense to leave and go somewhere else. I called Homeland Security and they had another position available, and it was mine for the takin'. Here you thought I was bein' a good soldier my first year here, when I was really plottin' to escape."

Fritz looked surprised. "I had no idea. What made you change your mind?"

She looked at him like he was the biggest idiot on earth and rolled her eyes. "Well, you, of course," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "This was after we had only dating for a few months? You were like a frightened colt any time I even mentioned the word 'girlfriend.' You broke dates with me all the time. Back then I didn't have any idea how you felt about me, about us. And yet you stayed in LA for me?"

"Fritzy," she said, wearily, "haven't you learned by now that the way I act and the way I feel are two very different things?" She looked at him. "Yea, I had my whole escape planned, even picked out an apartment in my old neighborhood in Georgetown and contacted a real estate agent about sellin' the bungalow. My resignation letter was typed up. And I just couldn't go through with it. I was so determined and all, to walk into Pope's office and quit, to call you on the phone and tell you it was over, I hoped we could be friends, and then.." again, her voice caught.

"Then what?" Fritz prodded her.

"Then you would come over and be your wonderful self, takin' care of me and all, lettin' me know how much you loved me without ever sayin' it by bein' so gentle, so kind. When I was with you, all that other stuff about Pope and my squad seemed so inconsequential. No one has ever made me feel like that, and every time I opened my mouth to tell you I was plannin' on leavin', I'd look into those eyes of your and my heart would, well, it would do somthin' funny in my chest, and the words just disappeared. I finally admitted to myself that I didn't want to leave you behind. Oh, I told myself all kinds of things, like I didn't want to give the LAPD the pleasure of pushin' me out, or I really didn't want to move back to DC, stuff like that. And I know I'm not very honest with myself most of the time, but when I was, I finally admitted I was too in love with you to leave. So I stayed."

Fritz looked almost as stunned as he did when he watched Brenda go over the cliff. "So you gave up plans for a better job back east where you could escape Pope and all the other assholes at the LAPD, to stay and be with me? The past three years, all those hours, all those times Pope has yelled at you or come on to you, you put up with that because of me?"

"Yea," said Brenda, picking up a small shell and drawing circles in the sand with it. "You surprised, Fritz?"

"Honestly? Very. Now I feel even more like I jerk for everything I did tonight."

"Good," Brenda said. She looked at him and they both started laughing at the same time.

"Laughter, that's good," Fritz said, smiling. "It means you don't want to kill me any more."

"No, it just means I found somthin' funny. I'm still mad at you."

His smile disappeared and a very intense look crossed his face. "Do you have any idea how much it means to me to hear this, Brenda? That you loved me enough to stay in LA even when everything was going so badly? That despite all you had been through, all your terrible relationships, something in your heart knew we were meant to be together? You know what that was, Brenda?"

"What?"

"Faith," he said. " You believed in me. You believed in our potential as a couple."

"I didn't think of that as faith before," Brenda said.

"Faith is believing in something when you have no reason not to," said Fritz.

She grunted her assent.

"Well, Father Fritz, since I'm really scrubbin' my soul clean tonight, I have another confession. I ate two chocolate donuts for lunch a few days ago." His face was masked in mock horror. She raised her hand. "Okay, okay, I admit it, it was three! There, I said it. Now what is my penance gonna be for bein' such a sinner?"

Fritz twisted her around so she kneeled between his legs. He took her hands in her face and hesitantly kissed her. When Brenda didn't pull back, her kissed her more, an evolving kiss that started with gentle touches of their lips and turned into the sweet perfection of two velvet tongues caressing each other. Brenda could barely breathe from the spender of it.

She pulled back. "Well, now, that was a hell of a lot better than havin' to say the rosary." She smiled, and Fritz put his large warm hand on her cheek, running his thumb over her lips.

He looked down at the sand where Brenda had been drawing with a broken shell, and noticed a big heart with "Brenda + Fritz" in the middle. He smiled, and when she followed his gaze to her own handiwork, she felt slightly embarrassed. "I was just doodlin', I didn't even know what I was drawin'." Fritz kissed her nose. "Well, I'll take it as a good sign."

"A good sign for what?"

"That you will come home with me now, Brenda. Crawl into bed and let me hold you. Please."

She shook her head. "No, I don't think so."

Fritz look frustrated and was about to speak again, but Brenda held up her hand and nodded toward the horizon. In the distance, a thin line of peach was slowly siphoning away the darkness of the night sky. It was dawn.

Brenda looked down at her watch. "Honey, it's 6am. I have to go into work. Even though my detectives are itchin' to show me I'm no longer needed, I have to go in and work on that case, make sure a Frovenza hasn't happened," she said, using their secret name for a mess made by her two most troublesome lieutenants.

"Oh, you're right, I didn't realize how long we've been out here." Fritz stood up and extended his hand to Brenda, which she took to heave herself up. "I have to get ready for work too. But will you at least let me buy you breakfast first? You didn't eat dinner last night, and I know you are going to have a long day. How about it?"

Brenda pondered his offer, as they both started to walk back to the cliff. "Okay Fritz, only if I can have pancakes with real syrup, not that fake sugar-free crap." She looked at him hopefully.

Fritz raised an eyebrow. "Brenda, are you playing me because you know I feel guilty about everything that happened tonight?" He tried to look serious.

She didn't miss a beat. "Yes, yes I am. I am takin' full advantage of your emotional pain to get a nice, hot stack of pancakes the way they were meant to be eaten, drownin' in Maple syrup."

Fritz laughed and grabbed Brenda around the waist, swinging her around a couple of times before finally giving in to her protestations and setting her down on the sand again. "Well, in light of tonight's discussion, I can only say that I appreciate your honesty."

Brenda, slightly dizzy and out of breath, wrapped her arms around Fritz's shoulders to steady herself. "And I appreciate that _your_ penance scores _me_ some pancakes!" She kissed him quickly, took his hand, and began to drag him down the beach, their way back increasingly illuminated by the rising sun.

**THE END  
**

**A/N: Well, that's my magnum opus. If you took the time to read it all, thanks so much, and please take a minute to hit the review button and let me know how you liked it. Even a few words would be most welcome. Feedback is what we fanfic writers live for!**


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